Never Let This Pair of Hands Forget
by sunsetdreamer
Summary: "Later, he'll wonder how long he could have held on to his state of contentment if he had just turned off his phone." Mix one part prodigal father, two parts angsty Booth, a little happy ending, and a lot of fandom friend love. HBD, RositaLG. Completed.
1. Chapter 1

**AN1: **If you haven't said happy birthday to RositaLG yet, you probably should. She's pretty awesome and is therefore deserving of such things. This is her gift, so if you like it, thank her for being born, and if you hate it, send complaints her way. Parting thought; here, there be smut (kind of). This is my first time ever attempting anything remotely "M" rated, and I think I warned Rosita that I found writing sex to be way harder than having it, so I guess I should warn you too. If it's bad, again, forward all complaints to the birthday girl; she made the request. This is not an especially jovial fic, although it does have its fluffy moments... because unlike SOME people *cough* RositaLG/biba79 *cough* I can't do 100% angst without fighting the urge to curl up in a ball and cry/cut myself. If I had it my way, there would be puppies and rainbows, but it's not my birthday.

**AN2 at RositaLG: **Note that I was also going to use 100% U.S. spelling for this, but then after the hundredth time I had to stop and backspace to take out 'extra' vowels and such, I was like, eff this it's way too hard. Besides, I tend to switch between spellings when it comes to 's's versus 'z's anyway. So there. Parting thought: Happy Birthday. I'm very glad we're friends :).

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><p><strong>Never Let This Pair of Hands Forget<strong>

Do I feel what I feel? Well?  
>Do you feel this way too?<br>That every wound seems to heal when I am around you.

**Around You, **Ingrid Michaelson

"_Get out. You don't deserve to be a father. __**Get out**_**.**"

_Quick tempers have run their course through generations of Booth men, and Hank is no exception. He's no stranger to seething anger and in this moment, when he can so clearly hear the dull crack of muscled hands meeting pliable flesh, and so clearly see one small body cowering while another body – even smaller than the first – cries on the sideline, he feels that if his son (he almost throws up; son. __**His **__son) was to stay in his sight one minute longer, he could actually kill him. But, along with the quick tempers, most of the Booths he has known seem predisposed to guilt and regret in spades. He's no exception to this either. As the car peels out of the driveway and disappears down the otherwise quiet street in a cloud of exhaust and a squeal of rubber tires against asphalt, bile rises up in his throat anew. What has he __**done**__? The boys have no mother and now thanks to him, they have no father to speak of either. Kids need parents. Kids need __a roof over their heads. They don't know how to do things like pay the mortgage and hydro and property taxes. What has he done? And then his brain turns back on and all but slaps him in the face for beginning to panic. What has he done? He's saved his grandchildren from tyranny, that's what. And what kids __**really **__need is love and stability and to close their eyes at night without the memory of their father's fist plowing into them. He may be getting old, but he can manage that much. He'll have to. The bridge has been crossed and he has no choice but to stand and watch it burn. _

_He turns back to the house and on the second storey, the curtains on the window facing the street snap shut. The yellow light seeping through them goes off a second later. _

_Hank squares his shoulders and shelves his internal battle. In a moment his life has changed, and there are two small children waiting in this average sized home who are now his sole responsibility. There had been signs that Joseph wasn't well, but when he had seen his grandkids, when he had watched that scrawny little shrimp interact with the man he used to call his son, Seeley's face had been an open book of admiration and willingness to please and it had been so easy for Hank to convince himself that the little knot in his stomach, the one that told him something wasn't quite right, could be chalked up to getting old and maybe developing an ulcer. Because he has seen the way Jared and Seeley play; he has seen the punches and the sword fights and tumbles down the stairs that send them crashing into walls. They are __**busy**__ kids, and it's expected to see bruises. Tonight's images are his earthly punishment. He hadn't seen what was happening early enough to stop today from occurring, and now he will see Seeley's stiff body and clenched eyelids in his mind every time he has a moment to think. From now until the day he dies, he will spend agonising nights awake questioning whether he maybe just didn't __**want**__ to see, and praying for absolution._

_He has no idea what he's going to say to the boys when he reaches them and he wants the walk to the second floor to take an eternity, but it seems to only take the span of three heartbeats before he's on the inside of the front door and headed up the narrow stairs. The master bedroom where he had seen movement from outside is now dark and still, and he wonders just how often Seeley has lived this routine in order to become so adept at erasing all traces of himself from rooms. The boys' bedroom is equally quiet; the only sign of life comes from the mocking grin of the clown night-light plugged into the wall by Jared's bed. He checks every closet, under every bed, and he doesn't find a trace of the kids he __**knows **__are somewhere in the house. Lastly, he checks the bathroom in the hall and he finally makes progress. When he opens the door he catches a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye – that kid is fast; __**damn **__fast – and Seeley stands in front of the now-drawn shower curtain looking terrified and determined all at once._

_Hank steps toward him and Seeley shrinks back, and even though Hank knows it's a reflexive reaction, it breaks his heart nonetheless. "Hey now, shrimp, it's okay. Where's your brother?"_

_There's silence as Seeley gazes up at him and shifts his weight from side to side, as if he's can't quite decide whether he wants to answer the question or make a run for the hallway. "I don't know."_

_It's a boldfaced lie. While Hank is trying to figure out how to respond, Seeley's eyes shift furtively to the curtain in his peripheral vision and back again, and things click into place for Hank. Bless that kid's heart. Deep purple bruising is already forming on Seeley's arms – his t-shirt prevents Hank from seeing anything else, although from the way his grandson is favouring his left side he's sure the damage is far more extensive – and there's blood crusted on his bottom lip. From where Hank stands, he can see that the damage to his mouth is self inflicted; Seeley bites to keep himself from crying. One kind of pain to distract from another. It's a technique the boy is much too young to learn. And still, he protects his brother. He puts himself in the line of fire and keeps Jared safe. Pay no attention to the boy behind the curtain. _

"_Your dad isn't here," (a bit of the anger returns with the word; dad. Son. What kind of person does this to family?) "I won't hurt him, Seeley. I just want to be sure you're both okay."_

"_He's fine," Seeley answers him resolutely. _

_Hank hesitates. He could pull back the curtain himself, but something tells him Seeley wouldn't easily forgive it. No, Seeley has to make the decision on his own. He settles himself on the linoleum floor and eliminates the vast height difference between them. "C'mon, shrimp, trust me, alright?"_

_Seeley studies his grandfather's face and then a fraction of the tension leaves his body. Just a fraction. He's still on guard and ready to bolt at a microseconds' notice. Keeping his head turned toward Hank, he slowly pulls back the shower curtain and sits protectively on the edge of the bathtub. Hank leans forward and there's Jared, curled up in a ball and fast asleep in the centre of the cold tub. He reaches into the tub and affectionately pushes back some of the dark hair that has fallen across Jared's closed eyes, and beside him, Seeley's body starts to tremble._

"_You did good, Seeley," Hank assures him, placing an arm across the boy's shoulders and adjusting his grip when its weight draws a small gasp of pain. _

_The anger returns, and Seeley senses it. Of course he does. However, Hank decides to take it as a positive sign that his grandson doesn't recoil from contact this time. Instead he turns away from his vigilant watch over his younger brother and makes eye contact. _

"_Please don't be mad at dad," he requests softly. _

_Hank sighs. "You understand that your dad... what he was doing, it's not okay. Right Seel? You get that?"_

_Seeley shrugs and Hank shakes his head. "Your dad's a grown man; he doesn't need you defending him. I'm gonna give you some advice, shrimp. It's not always your job to protect everybody, okay? Sometimes it's alright to just sit back and let someone else do all the hard stuff."_

_Seeley doesn't answer him. He quietly ducks out from under Hank's arm and climbs back into the tub, and he sits beside his brother with his knees drawn up against his chest. In all likelihood, Jared won't even remember this night by the time he's grown. The most Hank suspects his youngest grandson will retain will be shadowy vestiges of a former darkness and an occasional rush of fear that he won't be able to quantify. Perhaps flashes of memory that will be there and gone so quickly, he will be able to convince himself they never really happened. Hank wishes the same could be said for Seeley. The boy's eyes are old and Hank knows that he will never be traditionally normal. He will always have difficulty finding the state of total relaxation that comes easily to others. He will wake up screaming. _

"_I watch Jared. It's my job. Mom..." Seeley swallows and then raises his chin, "...Mom says he's little now but when he's older, he'll watch me too. So it's important."_

_There's a challenge in his eyes at his use of present tense, as if he's just waiting for Hank to draw attention to the fact that their mother is gone and she isn't coming back. It's a test, and Hank passes._

"_That's true. It's what brothers do." The fight goes out of Seeley like air out of a balloon, and the boy slumps against the wall of the tub. Hank chooses his next words carefully. "Maybe you and I can watch him together from now on, huh? You and I, Seel. We'd make a good team."_

_Seeley runs his tongue over his bloodied lip. "Just until dad gets back?"_

_Hank clenches his jaw and swiftly buries the spike of simultaneous anger and sadness that passes through him before Seeley can see it. "Yeah. Until your dad gets back."_

_He doesn't care what the books say. Sometimes, lying to a child is what's best._

_Seeley watches him warily for a few seconds and Hank doesn't doubt that the kid knows he's not being told the whole truth. But at the end of the day he's still a child, and he wants to believe that things can be better. He wants to believe that he won't always have to shoulder this burden alone._

"_Yeah," Seeley mutters eventually, "I guess that would be okay."_

"_Good boy," Hank says thickly. He reaches into the tub and scoops Jared up against his chest without waking him. It's a practiced art in parenthood that is never really forgotten. Hank adjusts to the long absent feel of a small being's arms sleepily looping around his neck, and then he stands and reaches for Seeley's hand._

"_Come on, sport. It's way past your bedtime."_

_After a brief hesitation, Seeley cautiously slips his tiny hand into Hank's larger one. In the morning, Hank will keep the boys home from school and check them over from head to toe – although he suspects Jared really is fine, just as Seeley claimed – and maybe he'll rustle up some grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch. Because what kid doesn't love grilled cheese? But now, right now, he'll let them sleep. He'll watch over both of them, because it's about time that someone does. And if his troubled son never comes back, it'll be too soon. He hopes that someday, when Seeley and Jared are old enough and maybe have children and grandchildren of their own, they'll understand._

* * *

><p>In a homey, slightly cramped apartment above a liquor store, metaphoric light years away from where and when he had grown up, Seeley Joseph Booth knew what it was to be content. He had learned what it was to experience sadness, to experience loss, to experience pain, and he had learned to squirrel away feelings of happiness for the days that were perhaps not so happy. Survival was one of his many talents (and that's important to note; Seeley Booth <em>survives<em>) but in the soft, early light of this particular morning, his mind was far from survival.

Brennan lay beside him. Her presence wasn't the product of a coma-dream or an overtired fantasy or related to undercover work, it was simply what they were, now. They came home to one another. They had been coming home to one another for months, and it had become the new normal. Sometimes, change was good. Sometimes, it didn't break your heart into a million little pieces.

Eventually, watching her sleep wasn't enough. He leaned over and pressed a wet kiss against the tip of her nose, then watched in amusement as said nose crinkled in distaste.

"I hate it when you do that," she murmured sleepily without opening her eyes.

Booth grinned. Yes, she hated it. And that was the primary reason he often couldn't resist the temptation to do it in the first place. It was also the reason he saved his attacks for early mornings, when her brain was still too foggy to retaliate with anything more than adorable irritation.

"Sorry."

She sighed and turned her face into her pillow. "What time is it?"

"A little after seven."

Her eyes flew open. "Booth!"

"What?" he ignored her accusatory tone and feigned ignorance.

"The alarm-

"I turned it off."

"_Why_?"

She started to sit up and pushed angrily against his arm when he effectively blocked her.

"Come on, Bones. We just closed a case; Cam isn't expecting anyone to come in before ten."

She huffed, knowing he was right but still resenting him for taking the _choice _to stay in bed out of her hands. "This is going to be one of those days during which you make it your mission to greatly annoy me, isn't it?"

"I thought you didn't do speculation?"

"It's a hypothesis based upon years of observation, Booth."

He chuckled and kissed the soft skin of her bare shoulder. "Well, it's wrong." He dramatically pulled the comforter over his head and continued the trail of kisses playfully between her breasts, stopping only to impatiently push her tank top out of his way. "I just want to spend some time with my girl."

His voice was muffled both by the comforter and his close proximity to her skin, but Brennan heard him loud and clear. She rolled her eyes and did her best to ignore the feel of his mouth on the weighty underside of her breasts. "You're doing it right now, Booth. I'm not a girl. I'm-

She gasped as Booth bit her right nipple without warning and quickly used his tongue to soothe the sting. The sensation traveled swiftly from her breast to her centre, and she swallowed hard before ripping back the blanket and glaring at her partner.

"That's not funny."

"I wasn't really going for funny."

"I am not rewarding your juvenile behaviour with sex."

"That's what you're saying, Bones, but your body," his eyes darkened and he kissed the inside of her upper thigh, smiling lustfully when her hips reflexively moved forward, "your body is telling me a whole other story."

She bent her knees, planting her feet firmly on the mattress, and she released a sigh as he continued to nuzzle the inside of her thighs and the dip of her lower belly, pointedly avoiding direct stimulation.

"You're misinterpreting," she made a pathetic attempt at banter despite the scent of her growing arousal.

He kissed her through the soft cotton of her underwear until he felt them dampen, and then he pulled them off and sent them to their proper place on the floor. Before she could gather her bearings, he blew a stream of cool air against her mound and then ran his tongue between her folds, chuckling triumphantly when she stiffened and wound her fingers into his hair. "I think I'm interpreting just fine, thanks, Bones."

Brennan made a brief attempt to control her breathing and then conceded defeat when he took that damn tongue of his and flicked her nub. With one last glance toward the time displayed on the digital clock, she closed her eyes and tightened her grip on his hair. "Make it fast," she demanded. "We don't have time-

"As you wish."

"I know that one!" she exclaimed proudly.

Pop culture reference successfully identified, Brennan found herself suddenly much more amenable to the idea of a morning interlude. She tugged insistently on his dark hair until he cooperated and made the journey back up to her face, and then she pulled his mouth hungrily to hers and nipped at his bottom lip when he teasingly denied her tongue access.

"Fast," she breathed into his mouth. "You promised..."

That wasn't entirely true, but she was beautiful and warm and there was the tiny fact that he loved her, so Booth obliged. He grasped a misshapen piece of her tank top and pulled upward, and she released him just long enough to raise her arms. In half a second flat, the thin garment was on the floor across the room. Synchronization. They were good at that.

She hummed contently as his index finger snaked between them and played with her moisture soaked lips, and she lifted her hips in an attempt to better meet his hand. When he adjusted the position of his fingers to keep the distance the same, Brennan frowned and pushed her hand into his boxers to show him exactly what she meant by fast.

Booth let out a choked breath as she grasped his hard member and then stroked her thumb across the head. "Okay, you've made your point."

"Are you sure?"

She grazed her fingernails lightly over his testicles, and then she wrapped her hand around him again and squeezed.

"Yeah," he groaned, "yeah. Definitely."

She pumped him once from base to tip and back again, and gave a self-pleased half smile when he thickened in her practiced grip. She raised her free hand and pushed against the inside of his elbow, causing his supporting arm to buckle and enabling her to easily roll them over.

"No," Booth said firmly.

"What? It's my turn!" she protested.

"No, it's not, Bones. Don't even try."

"Last night doesn't count," she said dismissively, pulling his boxers free of his legs and then straddling him, grinding her pelvis shamelessly against his length.

"Yeah? What about the time before that? And the time before that, for that matter?"

"That is _not _an accurate recollection of-

Booth palmed both breasts and flicked her hardened nipples rapidly, and then he removed one hand to mirror the action on her sensitized clit. She hissed and Booth took advantage of his current lead, sitting up halfway and flipping her back beneath him.

"It's accurate, Bones. Trust me."

"Don't tease me," she warned.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"You were _just_-

He aligned himself with her entrance and buried himself to the hilt without further preamble. She laughed triumphantly and clamped her thighs around his hips, enjoying the fullness of him inside of her for a moment before loosening her grip and rocking forward to spur him on. He withdrew himself almost completely and then entered her once more in one smooth, powerful stroke.

"_Yes_."

"You're perfect. You're fucking perfect."

Just as he began to quicken his rhythm, his phone vibrated against the night table beside him. It – understandably – took them longer than it ordinarily would have to place the sound, and once they did, Booth began to determinedly thrust faster.

"Booth," she murmured, "Booth it could be important."

"It can wait," he grunted.

But Brennan was distracted now. "At least see who it is," she insisted breathlessly.

Booth exhaled loudly in exasperation and fumbled blindly for his phone, then squinted at the display. "Cam," he breathed shortly, tossing the phone back onto the stand.

"Wha- Why is Cam calling you and not me?" Brennan asked, offended.

"Exactly. Don't worry about it."

Except, just as they had both put any thought of Cam out of their minds, the phone began to vibrate. Again. Booth hit the ignore button and resisted the urge to throw the phone into the nearest wall.

"You can't!" Brennan protested too late, "What about- what about the pre-complete ring-off?"

"Cam can take the pre-complete ring-off and go fu-

The phone began to buzz for the third time and Brennan wanted to cry. "She's going to keep calling," she pointed out in defeat, "you have to answer."

With one last thrust deep inside her she gasped and he reached for the phone, muttering to himself the whole time. In between curses, he hit the call button none too gently. "What?"

Brennan tried to keep still, she really did, but she had been so close she couldn't help shifting her hips just to add an almost negligible relief to the pressure.

Booth inhaled sharply and then slapped her thigh to catch her attention. When she opened her eyes, he made a deadly serious cease and desist motion and once again tried to concentrate on the voice in his ear.

"_I need you to come to the lab."_

"Why?" He automatically questioned the request before he remembered that the why didn't actually matter, because Cam wasn't his boss and she couldn't tell him to do _anything_. "No."

Curiosity piqued, Brennan started to sit up, and Booth quickly covered the microphone with his thumb. "Cut it out," he hissed.

Sheepishly, she settled on her back and concentrated on remaining still.

"_I don't want to talk to you about this over the phone. Just get your ass over here, Seeley. Fast."_

There was urgency in Cam's tone, traces of concern and fear as well. But there was something... _else _that he couldn't identify, and in the end, that was what brought him around. Because he couldn't remember the last time that he had talked to Cam without understanding both the said and the unsaid.

"I'll be there in a half hour."

"_Twenty minutes."_

He hung up the phone and sighed. "Ready?" he asked Brennan.

Reluctantly, she nodded her head.

He withdrew from her quickly; like ripping off a band aid and pretty much just as painful. This was a new first for them. They had been interrupted during foreplay and immediately following climax, but mid-act? No. He couldn't say that he was a fan.

"What's going on?" Brennan asked when she trusted herself to speak.

"She wants me at the lab. I can't figure out what's up with her."

Booth lay on his back beside her gazing fixedly at the ceiling, and she took a few deep breaths before propping herself up on her elbow to stare at him. "Would you like me to-

"No," he shook his head.

"You look quite uncomfortable. It wouldn't take long; I'm very talented."

It was tempting, it really was. But she was no more satisfied than he was and it hardly seemed fair.

"No. Just please put some clothes on."

* * *

><p>Booth was in the bathroom quickly brushing his teeth when Brennan received her own instructions from Cam.<p>

_Come with him; he's going to need you._

She frowned at the text message and then glanced at the closed bathroom door before rapidly sending off her response.

_I don't understand._

Her message had barely cleared the screen before the reply had the phone buzzing in her hand.

_Make sure Booth doesn't leave that apartment without you. _

Fear began to twist in her stomach but she steeled herself and compartmentalized. With a determined clench of her jaw she pulled on clean underwear and a bra and the first jeans and t-shirt her fingers touched, and then she threw her hair up into a neat ponytail.

She was reaching for the bathroom door when it swung open, and Booth stopped abruptly beneath the frame to avoid crashing into her.

"Bones, what-

"I'm your partner; I go with you," she blurted.

Initially he looked flabbergasted, but after a beat passed he simply shook his head. He was _not _going to get sucked into one of those time consuming, _mindless _arguments they had, when he knew that he would inevitably forget what it was they were even fighting about and she would end up going with him anyway.

"Fine; let's go."

The knot in her stomach loosened ever so slightly, because accompanying Booth had been her direct assignment and as long as she did her job, everything had to be okay. It had to be. Any other outcome was unacceptable. He was already heading out into the hall and she hurried after him, and then she grabbed his hand desperately as he began to open the front door.

He tilted his head when he looked at her as he waited for an explanation, and she took a deep breath before stretching upward and kissing his mouth hard.

Booth licked his lips as she pulled away. "What was that for?"

Brennan's brow furrowed and she tried to ignore the erratic thumping of her heart. "It's a good memory," she finally said. "For you to remember if things get bad."

"You developing psychic powers, Bones?" he tried to smile, but he had his own gut instinct screaming at him to take her back to bed and stay there for the rest of the day, for the rest of his _life_, and the smile wavered and died very quickly.

She didn't rise to the bait. "Remember this morning," she insisted softly. "It was a very good morning."

Booth cupped her cheek and rested his forehead against hers, and he tried really hard to quell his rising agitation. Eventually, Brennan squeezed his hand.

"Time to go," she murmured softly.

"Yeah," he agreed, pulling away from her and swallowing hard. "Yeah."

* * *

><p>When they pulled into the underground parking lot, they both saw Cam – pacing restlessly in front of Brennan's parking space – at approximately the same time. She placed her hands on her hips when she recognized the vehicle and took a step back to allow Booth entry.<p>

Brennan scrambled out of the passenger side the moment the SUV was put in park (first; she likes to be first; especially when she feels unprepared. She can get the experience over with quickly and bury it away to be dealt with when she's ready) and Booth climbed out after her.

What's going on, Camille?"

He tucked his hands into his pockets and slouched slightly as he waited for the response. _Don't call me Camille_. It was cheesy, but it was one of their things. Instead, Cam stepped forward and Booth saw a spark of rage in her eyes that contradicted the composed demeanour she had adopted the second she had seen them coming. All furtive hopes that Cam just needed paperwork completed or furniture moved or maybe for him to be her fake boyfriend again flew out the window.

"Not here. Let's go upstairs."

He was about to challenge her, but she saw the ire rising in him before he had decided exactly how he was going to express it, and after absently smoothing the front of her skirt she simply turned her back to him and began to walk purposefully toward the staircase. Booth had no choice but to trail after her, but he did so reluctantly and with a great deal of grumbling while Brennan observed both of them quietly.

* * *

><p>They congregated in Brennan's office. There had been no further conversation between them as they had journeyed up to the lab, but it was a safety zone for both Booth and Brennan and whether it was consciously or not, the three of them went straight to the dark space without debate.<p>

Brennan shut the door and flipped on the lights, and then years of habit had her hanging up her coat and dropping her bag beside her desk while Cam perched herself on the arm of the couch and Booth stood stiffly by the bookshelf. She looked between Booth and Cam and was suddenly angry at her (sort of)boss for managing to make her feel so unsettled in this place that was so undeniably hers. Sit, stand. Sit, stand. She wavered between the two options and then she promptly threw herself down in her computer chair before she could change her mind again.

Cam stood, and Booth noted the way she picked absently at her cuticles. He hadn't seen her do that in years. Cam worked really hard to keep all traces of insecurity buried from pretty much everyone.

"This might be the last time you talk to me for, well, forever, so I need you to know that I'm as angry as you are going to be. I'd also like to point out that I'm only the messenger... although I suppose, in the grand scheme of things, that part's not all that important."

Booth immediately thought to their last case, and the semi-public screaming match that had occurred between himself and his partner shortly after the body had been found. Cam had been pissed. They had been in Brennan's office with the door closed, but the walls were hardly soundproof and as luck would have it, Cam had been in the middle of assuring one particularly sceptical bureaucrat that the recent change in the relationship between Temperance Brennan and her partner wouldn't do anything to compromise her work or the integrity of the institution.

_You two couldn't have waited five minutes? Honestly, Seeley, sometimes I really think you do this on purpose._

Cam had smoothed things over; she was good at that and wasn't that what she got paid to do anyway? But they hadn't made it easy for her. He glanced at Brennan, and the fear in her eyes told him she was thinking along the same lines as he.

"What did you do?" he growled.

Cam's gaze dropped to the ground briefly and he knew that he had hurt her feelings, but he couldn't bring himself to care. When her head came back up she met his eye squarely and stopped fidgeting.

"I did it for you," Cam said calmly, "and if you're going to be mad at me, then there isn't anything I can do about that. But it doesn't change anything."

Booth frowned. "What are we talking about?"

Cam took a deep breath. "Your father was here."

He saw Brennan freeze out of the corner of his eye and Cam was watching him anxiously, and he supposed that if ever there had been a time for dramatic outbursts and wall-punching, it was now. But he couldn't bring himself to do anything but laugh. This was a joke. Maybe Cam was trying to remind him that there were worse things than having his partnership with Brennan severed before dropping the axe on both of them. He wouldn't put it past her.

There was a part of him that immediately knew he was being unfair to Cam, but the part of him that needed to prolong this delusion just a little while longer won out in the end.

"What?"

"The guard stopped him before he could get all the way up here, and then they paged me at the desk."

The lopsided smirk fell away and Booth stood straight and tall. "Knock it off, Cam."

"He had that newspaper photo with him," she continued. "Do you remember? The one from the banquet last month?"

Of course he remembered. Brennan had been forced to attend and so he had been forced to go as well (_it's not __**fair**__, Booth, you have to come too_), but the evening had been surprisingly pleasant. Maybe this was punishment for enjoying himself that night. She had looked stunning and after she had done her mingling, they had danced and laughed, and his personal highlight had been when drunk-Hodgins had knocked over a table. It had been one of those nights when the entire team _clicked_, and it was possible to believe that there would never be a moment in which they would not all be as happy as they had been then. Some reporter had caught the partners laughing after Booth had entertained Brennan's girly, spontaneous desire to be traditionally twirled on the dance floor, and the picture had been displayed on page eight for all of D.C. to see the next morning. Bones had a copy tucked into the top drawer of her night table. Not that he would ever tell her he knew about it.

"No. I don't remember."

Cam's mouth formed a hard line and it was clear that they both knew he was lying. Unfortunately for him, she wouldn't let it sidetrack her.

"I wouldn't tell him where you lived. I called as soon as he was gone. I would have come over myself but I didn't want to chance being followed."

"This is crazy." Booth pushed away from the bookshelf and began to pace the room. His fingers sought out his poker chip and then tightened into a fist when he remembered that it was back home in yesterday's suit. "You've never met my father. _I _barely remember what he looks like."

_Lie. Lie lie lie lie._

"I may not have Dr. Brennan's eye for skeletal structures, but there's a strong resemblance between him and Jared."

He _reminded_ Cam of Jared, not that she would ever, _ever _consider voicing that particular opinion to Booth. But the features were similar and the actions were the same; there was this ability to go from charming to malicious in the blink of an eye and an instability that couldn't be ignored. Not by her. Yes, she could laugh with Jared and spend a pleasant night in his (platonic) company, but she could do so because Jared never stayed long and because he was important to Booth. She could do it because Booth was loyal to the people he loved even when they didn't remotely deserve it.

Booth swallowed and fought to keep his voice neutral. Because this didn't matter. It shouldn't matter. He wasn't a child, for fuck's sake. "Where is he now?"

Cam's eyes darkened. "I called security and they hauled his sorry ass out of here."

The seconds ticked by and the women closest to him waited for a reaction. _Any _reaction. And then they both saw his face set like polished, cold marble. The restless actions of his fingers – lost without the stress reliever they depended on – ceased, and Booth nodded his head in calm acceptance of this overload of information.

"Alright. Thanks, Cam."

"_Thanks_?" Brennan echoed incredulously, speaking for the first time since arriving at the lab. She stood up from her chair and met him in the middle of the room. "Booth-

"Is that it?" He cut Brennan off without taking his eyes away from Cam, because he hated seeing that flash of hurt that always crossed her face when he was abrasive with her unprovoked, but he didn't want this conversation carrying on a moment longer. He had a spare suit in his car; he was going to get dressed for work, he was going to head to the Hoover, and he wasn't going to think about this again. Because it didn't matter.

Cam wordlessly nodded her head and Booth turned on his heel and left the office, pulling the door gently shut behind him. Brennan watched him head toward the entrance without once looking back, and then she turned to Cam.

"That's _all_?" Her eyes flashed, "You tell Booth his physically abusive father is in town looking for him at _my _lab and then you just let him _leave_?"

"He's not going to want me right now," Cam said softly, "that's why you're here. I stopped being the person he talks to about these things a long time ago."

Some of the fight left her and she folded her arms across her chest, feeling agonisingly vulnerable. "What do I do?"

"What you always do," came the simple answer. "It seems to work."

"I don't know what that is," Brennan confessed. "The things I say that seem to provide the most comfort are very rarely intentional."

Cam bit back a sad smile. "And that is one of your more endearing qualities. You don't have to do anything you wouldn't normally do; Booth would hate that."

* * *

><p>She caught up to him just inside the parking lot. There were things she did, assumptions she made, concerning Booth, that she never gave a second thought. If anyone were to ask her why she had decided to take the elevator instead of the stairs, her answer would probably point out that the elevator was the fastest method of getting from point A to point B. It wouldn't occur to her that she <em>knew<em> Booth always took the stairs when he was upset because he didn't have the patience to depend on anything he couldn't control. It wouldn't occur to her that she _knew_ taking the elevator would be the only way she could counter his head start.

"Hi."

"Hey."

The response was hardly encouraging, but she took a deep breath and forged ahead regardless. "So, what are we going to do?"

He felt that little tug in his stomach at her assumption that these things didn't happen to him or her but _them_, but he tried to push it away. "Nothing. We aren't going to do anything."

"But we have to do _something_, Booth. The look on your face right now makes me uncomfortable."

Booth couldn't suppress a tiny smile. "You can stop looking at me like you're expecting me to hit something, Bones. I'm fine."

"Respectfully, I am choosing not to believe you," she said cautiously. "I think you _are _going to hit something."

"I'm not," Booth promised. "Are you good here for the day? I'm gonna head over to my office."

"But-

"Look, Bones, we can talk at home, okay? I don't want to get into this now. Not when we have a full work day ahead of us."

He stopped short when he reached Brennan's assigned parking space.

"Uh oh," Brennan said beside him.

Someone had clearly run right into the back of the vehicle. It was hard to damage an SUV, but this jackhole had managed. The bumper was intact, relatively speaking, but it was hanging crooked and one tail-light had been knocked out. Booth gritted his teeth. This was going to be a terrible, _terrible _day.

"Are you okay?" she asked tentatively.

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You hate it when things happen to your vehicle."

"I said I'm fine."

"The damage is extensive. We will have to use my car while it's being repaired."

"It's fine."

"You _hate _my car."

Why couldn't she leave anything alone? He had her chirping in one ear and Cam going in the other and his father of all fucking people showing up out of fucking nowhere, and the back of his truck was a mess. Of course it wasn't fine. But he didn't _care_ about any of it. He locked his jaw and felt his body begin to hum with the violent energy he had been just-barely keeping at bay since Brennan's office. Without another word he popped the trunk and rifled through the piles of crap on the floor until he happened upon the riot gear still stowed away from that training day a couple weeks ago. His hand grasped the heavy baton and it immediately felt_ right_. Like an extension of himself. Violent and powerful and damaging and unyielding like everything his father had been and everything he probably would be too. Eventually.

"What are you doing?"

He twirled the baton expertly in his dexterous hands. "You want to see how much I don't care, Bones?"

He didn't wait for an answer. With one slight movement of his right hand, he knocked out the other tail-light. And the sound of glass shattering was so pleasant, he had to do it again. He took the baton in both hands and swung with everything he had, and he felt the vibrations hard in his elbows as the rear window gave way. Satisfied, he drew the weapon high above his head and brought it crashing down with all his might for the second time.

"_Did you break this window, Seeley?"_

"_Yes sir."_

"_How?"_

"_It was an accident, sir."_

"_I didn't ask if it was an accident; I asked you how it happened. You need to learn to __**listen**__."_

"I think it's dead, Booth."

The voice came softly from behind him, and once the words filtered through he couldn't be quite sure whether he was more surprised that she sounded so calm, or that she had managed to make a fairly normal joke in the middle of a really screwed up situation. He stared dumbly at the glass littering the dirty ground and his shoulders slumped as the pulsing rage disintegrated. The baton fell from his suddenly limp fingers and dropped to the cement at his feet. When he turned back to the vehicle and was faced with the gravity of the damage he'd so impulsively caused, Booth suddenly felt lightheaded. What the hell had he done?

"I believe, in colloquial terms, you have just beaten the absolute shit out of your car," Brennan stated matter-of-factly.

It was only then that he realized he had spoken aloud.

"This is bad," he said numbly, "Like, 'shooting at clowns' kind of bad."

He sat on the damaged bumper and was absently surprised when it held his weight. Brennan gingerly kicked aside the baton – just in case Booth got it in his head to attack the vehicle again – and then took a seat beside him.

"I find that I also enjoy striking things when I am upset," she offered conversationally.

A jolt of love vibrated throughout his exhausted body for this woman who would stand by and let him destroy a government issued vehicle just because she thought it might make him feel better.

"I know. It's kind of your thing. I'm just glad you don't punch me anymore."

"Sometimes I want to."

He laughed humourlessly at the honest answer and rubbed the back of his neck. "How can you be so calm right now? Look at this."

"It's a car," she shrugged. "I'll buy you another one if the FBI won't. Although I would suggest that if you wish to keep your job, we maybe do not tell them exactly how this happened."

* * *

><p>By the end of the day, Booth was wondering if Brennan had managed to get <em>any <em>real work done in the nine hours that had passed since they parted ways. Not a single hour had gone by without a text from her, but she had managed to not once ask how he was feeling. For that, he was grateful.

It wasn't the only reason he had to be thankful for her today. Not by a long shot.

That morning, she had unceremoniously pushed him off the bumper and then gazed critically at the damage before picking up the baton and taking a swing of her own at the back of the vehicle. He hadn't been able to do anything but stare at her in shock, and it had been another two swings before she had taken any notice of the stunned look on his face.

_What? This is an accurate dent pattern for impact with a medium sized car. Besides, it looked like fun when you did it._

He didn't like that kind of deception. He had already decided to just go with the whole truth when the tow truck showed up, but Brennan had jumped in with her own detailed account of events before he could say a word. She had never been able to lie to protect herself – nor had she ever felt the desire – but she could apparently lie to protect Booth when she believed he deserved it.

_You are one unlucky son of a bitch, Booth._

_Someone finally got sick of you driving like you own the road, huh?_

_How does it feel to know you're going to be getting chauffeured around in your girlfriend's toy car for the next week?_

Bones was nothing short of thorough, that was for sure. No one had questioned her story, and somewhere around the fourth joke at his expense, he had passed the point of no return. There would be no coming clean. This would get tacked onto the bottom of his epic list of things that evoked feelings of sickening guilt.

There was a knock on his closed door and he looked up from the file spread out across his desk.

"Come in."

The door opened and Brennan poked her head in. "Are you almost finished? The cab's waiting."

"Yeah," Booth stood and began to shuffle his things into a manageable pile, "Yeah, I'm ready."

She entered the room and sat in the chair nearest the side wall, drumming her fingers absently against the arm while she waited.

"I get my SUV back next week," Booth said casually. "Everyone bought your story."

"Of course they did," she said dismissively, "I'm very smart, Booth. Which is why you will never catch me if I ever have reason to carry out my perfect murder."

He almost believed it was unintentional. Almost. But beginning a _real _relationship with her had made it even easier to see her tells and he saw the slight quiver in her lip amidst her otherwise oblivious expression that indicated she knew exactly what she was doing.

"Funny, Bones. You're hilarious."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm sure you don't."

* * *

><p>They had Thai delivered for dinner, and Booth tried to take comfort in their practiced manner of passing the cartons back and forth across his small table. But he couldn't couldn't couldn't relax. He could feel her watching him. He could hear the seconds ticking down to when he wouldn't have any choice but to address the elephant in the room.<p>

"The mee krob tastes better than usual tonight."

"Are you going to look for your father?"

Booth sighed and considered trying to give her another lesson on tact, but in the end he simply answered the question. "No."

He shoved some more noodles in his mouth and hoped that she would let this go for just ten more minutes.

"I was very upset when Max first returned."

The food got stuck in his throat and lost all its appeal. He choked it down. "Max was a good father to you for fifteen years."

"And then he abandoned me."

He pushed away his plate. "It's different, you know? Your dad... your family's a total wreck, too, I know that. But, one second I'm thinking about how my dad woke me up at five o'clock in the morning on my birthday to take me to the airport and watch the planes take off, just me and him, and then the next second I'm remembering how it felt to have the wind get knocked out of my body so long I thought I might never start breathing again after being tossed into the fridge door."

"You're angry," she observed softly.

"Yes. I'm angry."

"Me too."

Booth raised his eyebrows. "Why are _you _angry?"

She, too, pushed her plate away and then stared at him through dark lashes and bright, earnest eyes. He wished he could turn back the clock. Turn it back to that morning when she had whispered _fast _and he had been putty in her hands and he had thought it was going to be the best day ever. Turn it back to before the phone interrupted them and he had planned on enjoying private time with the woman he loved for another two hours before going out into the world.

"I think that I hate him, Booth."

Her voice was strung tight with barely contained emotion, and it felt really, really good to have someone solidly in his corner. Someone who would hate a person she had never met simply because once upon a time, they had hurt him.

"I think that I hate him, too," he answered honestly.

"There are not many people that you hate; I resent him for making you feel this way."

"That's not true, Bones; there's lots of people I hate."

This was what he was going to have to do; make jokes. Keep his voice light. Deflect. Otherwise he was going to fall apart right there in the kitchen. And hadn't going postal on his vehicle really been enough for one day?

Brennan narrowed her eyes. "Name one."

Booth tilted his head pensively. "Kanye West. I know you like his music, but I'd like to punch that guy in the face."

"Booth." She gave him a disapproving frown.

"And what about Michael Stires, huh? There's another guy I hate."

"Because we used to have sex frequently?"

"Yeah, because you used to have sex. But also because he was a jerk. And did you _have _to throw the 'frequently' part out there?"

"Who else?"

"Max."

"My father? You hate my father?"

"He punched me in the gnads, Bones. That's not something a guy forgives easily."

Brennan cracked a smile, and then her eyes fell to the table top. When they came back up, they glistened brightly with tears he didn't understand and she couldn't explain.

"I wish you would be serious."

"Why are you pushing this?"

"Because you always help me. And I would like to be given the opportunity to try and help you. I like you very much, Booth."

And with that, just like in the garage, she pushed him _just_ beyond what he could handle.

_I like you, Booth_.

I like you. And he _had_ to be crazy because that sincere admission warmed him to the core.

People don't always like the ones they love, but today, now, in this moment, she did.

His father had beat him and he had grown up without parents and his brother was an alcoholic and he was a gambling addict and he had a child from a previous relationship and he had killed _so _many people and he didn't go to mass nearly as often as he should and he had a job that ate up close to all his free time, and still, he was enough for her. Temperance Brennan liked him. She didn't judge him when he made rash decisions like beating the absolute shit out of his car, she picked up the baton and she took a few swings herself, partially to help him, but also because it looked _fun_.

He pulled the table aside and ignored the cartons that toppled onto the floor, and she met him halfway – like always now, because she had learned a lot in the last few years – and they kissed and his world fucking exploded.

They were sharp teeth and quick hands and scratching nails and demanding tongues, and she could handle all of him and he could handle all of her and the feeling of _belonging _just about burst right through his chest.

* * *

><p><em>He and Rebecca have always had crazy sex. Like, <em>_**crazy**__ sex. It goes beyond angry sex and passionate releases to something that is decidedly unhealthy and leaves them playing truly messed up mind games. Games that involve doing things like racing to come first in order to achieve the satisfaction of immediately turning over and going to bed, leaving the other person wholly pissed off. _

_And there's this one day, only weeks before they find out she's pregnant (coincidence? Probably not) that gets entirely out of hand. She's yelling at him and he just has __**enough **__and he's yelling back and they're both picking at wounds that inflict maximum injury. They arm themselves with hurtful words and they use everything they know about one another __**against **__one another. They judge._

_He really thinks he hates her._

_She slaps him and he has never in his life so badly wanted to hit a girl, but he settles for "accidentally" knocking her favourite glass figurine to the floor and watching her face as it shatters._

_Suddenly they're naked and the sex is good – it's always good – and they're both still furious but they're starting to think that this is enough of a reason to stay together. Because in their darkest moments they __**know **__that they are both so, __**so **__damaged who else would want them? Who else could handle the burden?_

_She comes first and she's in a generous mood because she lets him finish too, and then they both fall into a dead, dreamless sleep._

_The next morning he wakes up first and Rebecca is huddled on the edge of the mattress as far away from his side as she can get without falling off, and that's fine with him because he's still a little mad at her and he suspects that when she wakes up the feeling will be returned._

_He strips down in the bathroom and discovers he has bruises on his arms and more than a few fiery red scratches spread out along his back and shoulders, and he rolls his eyes (they're a mess, they're __**such **__a mess. Why can't they leave each other?) but he gets in the shower and he doesn't think about it again._

_The bed is empty when he gets out and he dresses and finds Rebecca in the kitchen and he __**freezes**__, because she has bruises too. There are splotches on her arms and the tops of her legs and she's wearing these little Daisy Duke shorts and a tank top, and he wants to find his gun and shoot himself. He can't remember gripping her hard enough to leave marks like those and that makes everything __**so **__much worse because it forces him to think of someone else who had left so many marks, and then had often not remembered them by the time he woke up hungover the next day._

_Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck._

_Rebecca turns to face him and with her mouth she's asking him if he'd like coffee and eggs as if they're the perfect happy couple, but with her eyes, with her __**eyes **__she's gloating. She's won and she knows it. She's hitting him where it hurts so bad he feels like he might vomit, and he will never get sucked into playing this game again. The cost is too great._

_She parades around in those shorts for a week and a half. He knows for a __**fact **__that she doesn't even like shorts. She's self conscious about her legs and it has to be a hundred degrees out before she'll even consider putting them on (and that's only if she can't find a skirt) but every time he sees her in the next eleven days her legs are bare. When the bruises go away, the shorts and tank tops do too. It's the cruellest thing she ever does to him, next to repeatedly denying him time with his son._

_It's in the back of his head, always, long after he and Rebecca burn everything between them but the bridge that connects them through their son. It's too much. __**He **__is too much. He's crazier than Rebecca and if he isn't __**careful **__people will get hurt. People will hurt him. He has other partners, but he keeps a part of himself locked away. He knows that Tessa is entirely too fragile to handle much of anything and Cam __**seems **__strong but she's built like a wire and he can only imagine the damage he could do to her. He forgets what it's like to give everything of yourself. He never really __**knows**__ what it's like to give all of yourself (and have it be __**enough **__and not __**too much**__) until he meets Temperance Brennan._

* * *

><p>In his lust driven haze, Booth forgot to check her to be sure she was ready for him. One minute he was outside of her and then the next he pushed his way in swiftly and unexpectedly, and Brennan's knees jerked upward, taking her legs clear off the mattress.<p>

Her right hand stretched above her head and pushed against the headboard. She closed her eyes and tried to control her brain's rapid signal fire to every nerve in her body so that she could reserve enough mental function to analyse this experience. And she was pushing and pushing against that headboard until it wasn't wood beneath her palm but hot, demanding flesh as Booth's hand joined her and clenched fiercely.

He was connected to her in the most intimate of fashions and it wasn't enough. He felt as if he was both with her and far away from her at the same time and he _needed _to feel grounded by something intangible, something that went beyond the base, reflexive thrusts of his hard body into her soft one. So he took hold of her hand and he squeezed squeezed until her eyelids parted and her clouded gaze found his.

There it was; that connection that took him past sex to the extraordinary thing that existed between them. He needed her. He needed her like oxygen. And he felt like he just might die if he couldn't make both of them come apart. She was _his _in a way nothing else was. It was often overlooked that he's had as many people leave him, as many people disappoint him and try to break him, as she has, and he felt this surge of anger and possessiveness as she crooked one knee to allow for deeper penetration and then hooked the opposite ankle around the back of his thigh, urging him onward. No one could have her the way he did. She was his alone, and if he could prove this, he could survive anything. Even the sudden arrival of the man that had filled his early stages of development with nearly equal parts sunshine and violence.

Stories of fig trees and other trysts in the desert hadn't forced her away. This wouldn't either. Because she was _his_, and even when she ran, she always came back. Always.

The position of their intertwined hands atop her pillow of dark hair wasn't at all comfortable. It placed unnecessary strain on his elbow and his triceps burned, but this didn't stop him from furthering the burden by gripping Brennan's hip roughly in his free hand. His fingers dug into her soft skin and her... iliac? Pelvic bone? – he didn't know the answer, but he knew she did. In any case, there was pressure from its peak digging into his palm and the feel of her writhing beneath him, holding his hand because he was holding hers and enthusiastically meeting his strokes with aggressive thrusts of her own (because his desperation had become her desperation and she now _needed _this too, even if she didn't entirely understand why) put him on the straightaway to orgasm.

Brennan's breathless pants had been mixed with his and while she was usually very vocal, she had been put beyond speech this time around. Until now. Her heel pushed against him hard, offering him all of her, allowing him to take and take until he had enough, and a particularly well timed meeting of their hips caused him to gasp loudly and her to lose her rhythm.

"Oh God... Boo- Booth..."

Her voice took on this pleading tone he didn't hear from her anywhere except the bedroom and then she was panting out words and he realised he was as well, but it was mostly just noise until her eyes squeezed tight and her free hand traveled of its own accord to ease the unbearable ache in her clitoris.

He moved her hand. Under more playful circumstances it was a turn on watching her touch herself, but he wasn't feeling especially playful right now. He pressed his thumb against her and rotated in quick circles and felt his belly coil tighter at her hiss of satisfaction.

"_Mine_," he murmured possessively.

She pushed herself up on her elbows so that she could press their bare chests together (_always _together) and then she bit down on his shoulder.

"Mine," she returned.

He felt her walls begin to clench around him a fraction of a second before his own body began to spasm, and they tumbled over the precipice together. Synchronization. Sometimes they fell very far apart, but they almost always got it exactly right, exactly _together_, when it mattered the most.

Two sweat slickened bodies fought for air and Brennan studied her reaction to Booth's weight on top of her (stable, and safe, and calm. How was it possible for one person's body to make her feel these things?) until he rolled to the side and she was suddenly too tired to think much of anything. A chill raced up his spine as a draft whispered through the bedroom and touched his quickly cooling skin, and Brennan pressed her lips gently against his strong sternum before drawing the sheets and letting her head hit her soft pillow.

With the distant sound of traffic and a sliver of moonlight filtering in through the closed curtains, they slept.


	2. Chapter 2

It's been almost month. I know. I apologise. How 'bout you all just take my word for it that my head is currently bowed in shame, okay? I swear, it really is. While my go-to strategy as of late has been "It's RositaLG's fault... take it up with her," I can't even employ that this time around; I just got stuck for a really long time. Most of this was already written when I posted the first part, but I couldn't seem to move forward enough to finish it. D-Day is July 16th; you don't need to know the details, but believe me when I say it has become of utmost importance to me that this be 100% finished by then at the LATEST (*ultimate crazy grin at J*). Preferably long before, but we all know how disciplined I am. You should maybe forgive me and let me know what you think anyway.

* * *

><p>Swan dive down eleven stories high<br>Hold your breath until you see the light  
>You can sink to the bottom of the sea<br>Just don't go without me.

**C'est La Mort, **The Civil Wars

_It's a Tuesday... at least, she thinks it is. Even dream-Brennan can't be sure. She's a part of the scene and she isn't; there's a dark haired little girl sitting against her bedroom door and her arms are folded stubbornly across her chest, and Brennan knows that it's her. Or, who she use to be. But it's like she's watching a movie and she knows that she's come too far from this bedroom to feel anything more than a vague, nostalgic connection to the players on this stage._

"_Temperance! Come on, sweetheart, we're going to be late."_

"_No!" the young version of the anthropologist the world knows, barely five, shouts through the closed door and pushes against it in a hurry when the knob begins to slowly turn. "No, mommy! I'm not going and you can't make me!"_

"_I don't want to hurt you, darling. Please move away from the door."_

_Temperance heaves a sigh and reluctantly shuffles forward. A few seconds pass and then the knob turns again and Christine cautiously eases the door open. Once she sees her daughter sitting a safe distance away, she steps fully into the room and settles herself cross-legged on the floor in front of the world's most headstrong child._

"_Are you nervous? It's only a half day, Temperance. I will pick you up in exactly three hours and forty five minutes. I promise. You did so well yesterday."_

_The girl looks up and makes __**that **__face. The one that will remain unchanged thirty years from now. It clearly conveys her belief that the words she's hearing (not to mention the person saying them) are ridiculous._

"_I'm __**not **__nervous. I don't want to go because my teacher is stupid. I already know how to read and tie my shoes and spell my name and count. Why can't I go to daddy's school?"_

"_You can't call your teacher stupid," Christine admonishes gently._

"_But she __**is**__, mommy. And so are the other kids. There's a boy who eats __**glue**__. And he doesn't even know his phone number."_

_Christine laughs and Brennan's stomach climbs into her throat, because that little girl takes these moments for granted and she has no idea what awaits her. Before the mother/daughter scene can develop any further, the door opens again and in walks her father, looking especially flustered. It's funny; Brennan can't remember what it's like to see him so... frazzled. She's almost certain frazzled is the word that Booth would use._

"_Christine, if we don't get out of the house soon-_

"_Matt, honey, I know. I'm working on it, okay?"_

"_Russ is saying that he's not going to school if Tempe doesn't."_

_Christine gives Max her own version of the I-find-your-words-ridiculous __look. "Who's the parent here? He's going to school, and so is Temperance."_

"_No I'm not, mom. I mean it."_

"_Temperance, please." The five year old frowns at her mother's slightly dismissive tone of voice, but she minds her and she doesn't say another word. Satisfied, Christine turns back to her husband. "Give us five minutes."_

_Max rolls his eyes dramatically and __**that **__is an action more familiar to Brennan. He leaves the room grumbling about pain in the ass wives and kids that are too smart for their own damn good, and Brennan is so touched by the normalcy of it all, she forgets about being sad and finds herself smiling instead. And then it's just her mother and this tiny version of herself that is so, __**so **__young again._

_Christine's face softens as she looks into the vibrant blue eyes staring back at her suspiciously, and she pulls her daughter easily into her lap. Temperance curls into Christine's chest and presses her nose into the cool silk of her shirt, and a little bit of the fight goes out of her._

"_My sweet little girl," Christine murmurs. She kisses the top of her daughter's head and hugs her tight, then begins to run her fingers soothingly through the long dark tresses that have become slightly mussed during Temperance's protest. "This isn't like you. Tell me what's wrong."_

_Temperance's face crumples immediately and her pale skin turns pink as she begins to cry in earnest. "I hate it there."_

"_Oh Tempe."_

"_Nobody wants to be my friend," she sniffles. "I sat all by myself at snack time. Even the boy who eats glue has friends."_

"_Did you try to play with any of the other children?" Christine asks gently, already knowing the answer. Her suspicions are confirmed when Temperance silently shakes her head without removing her face from Christine's shirt. When Christine sighs sadly and cradles her closer, Temperance, who already handles failure poorly and feels overwrought with a disappointment in herself not shared by her mother, cries harder._

"_What if I try to talk to the other kids and they still don't like me?"_

"_Sweetheart, how could anyone not like you once they know you? You're wonderful."_

"_But what if they don't?"_

"_Then __**I'll **__like you."_

"_Why can't __**you**__ teach me then?"_

"_We mustn't hide when we're afraid. We face the things we fear and through the experience we become stronger. I would never let you go if I didn't think you could handle it, Temperance."_

* * *

><p>There were tear tracks on Brennan's face when she woke up. She exhaled and unconsciously ran a hand through her hair, then stared at the ceiling and tried to savour the memory before it slipped away from her. Already the details were growing hazy, and she was left with a bittersweet heaviness in her chest at the knowledge that she had recently experienced something precious that would soon disappear.<p>

Having undergone as much introspection as she could bear, Brennan slowly stretched and turned onto her stomach, rested her head on her hands, and chose to study Booth instead. She wondered if his mother had ever had to assure him that he was wonderful and liked by the people around him. She wondered if there had ever been a time when making friends had been difficult for him, or if he had simply been born charismatic. She hoped he had always had friends. In the absence of a loving parent to comfort early feelings of inadequacy, it seemed unfair to be left socially handicapped.

There was a slight crease in his strong brow and she resisted the temptation to smooth the lines with her fingertips. He rarely relaxed. Even in sleep, his body was often tense and he remained only a whisper away from consciousness. She knew that Booth could – and often did – spend a great deal of time watching her sleep (_it's the only time you're ever still, Bones_) and as she returned the favour in a way she so rarely had opportunity to do, she wished he could sleep deeper. Sleep better. Today, however, the knowledge that the weight of her gaze was too often enough to bring him to a semi-alert state wasn't enough to deter her. Because she so desperately wanted some sign in his features that he would really be okay. That he would survive, as always, and wake up maybe a little less damaged than he had seemed the day before.

Her body was sore, but not unpleasantly so, and as she became aware of the stiffness in her lower half, her eyes went to Booth's bare chest and marks she vaguely remembered leaving. Her hand reached out to soothe the welt on his shoulder, and she just barely remembered to pull it back before she made contact with his skin. Perhaps it would be wise to simply remove herself from temptation and leave the bedroom. Yes. She could drive to the mall and do a quick run through the gardens, and drive back in time to shower and have breakfast with Booth before work. And maybe Booth would sleep.

She slipped out of bed and opened drawers with practiced silence. As she dug through the side of Booth's dresser that had, at some point, been claimed as her own, she frowned and pulled out a particularly comfortable pair of underwear she had been trying to locate within her own apartment for what seemed like forever. The underwear went on, followed by three-quarter length spandex pants, and she mentally vowed – for the benefit of her sanity – to do a full inventory of all the belongings that had found permanent residence in Booth's apartment. She _hated _not knowing where her things were.

"Where are you going?" Booth mumbled from the bed.

Brennan stopped. "Out for a run. Go back to sleep; it's early."

"Be careful."

She smiled. The phrase came as automatically to him as 'bless you' or 'you're welcome.' _I'll be at the lab. Be careful. I'll pick up dinner on my way home. Be careful. Angela and I are going shopping. Be careful. Be careful be careful be careful. _

"Okay."

"You can be a real smartass, you know that?" he muttered without opening his eyes.

She rolled her eyes and pulled on a sports bra, flinching slightly when the lycra chaffed against the sensitive skin over her breasts. "So you keep telling me. I'll be back in an hour."

He didn't respond and when Brennan turned back to the bed, it was to find that he had fallen back asleep. She pulled on a shirt and frowned again when the hem didn't quite reach her pants. No matter how she tugged at it, the breathable material wouldn't stretch, and she glared accusingly at her oblivious partner. His habit of simply throwing everything lacking a clear 'dry-clean only' label straight from the washing machine into the dryer was wreaking havoc on her wardrobe. It was hard to stay annoyed with him, though, when he wasn't even awake. So she shelved her irritation and grabbed her shoes from the closet – not bothering to change her shirt – and she wavered between the bed and the doorway for a brief moment before giving in to her desire to smooth back his hair and kiss his cheek. Once the small gesture of affection was completed, Brennan huffed at her own illogical sentimentality before striding purposefully out the door and closing it softly behind her.

Inside the bedroom, Booth allowed himself a small smile.

* * *

><p>Brennan had been running for close to twenty minutes when her mind drifted from the mundane (grocery lists and staff meetings and bill payments, and where had Booth put that gray sweater of hers?) to more serious matters. To things like her childhood and the great amount of speculation that was required to dwell on Booth's. She knew how it felt to hate a parent and <em>resent <em>them. She was familiar with encountering this cacophony of negative emotions that welled up in her stomach and her throat and threatened to choke her. She knew how it felt to have Booth stare into her eyes and _know _her, and somehow lessen a very acute pain to something manageable. Booth could understand the anger and resentment because he had lived it, but she didn't know what it was to feel terror in regards to a parent. And her greatest fear was that the lack of shared experience would hinder her ability to connect with Booth enough to ease his burden.

And then there was her conversation with Hank, in the diner what seemed like decades ago. They were years from that day and she still hadn't told Booth the truth. Would telling him now be easing his burden, or her own? She had this sinking feeling that the sense of urgency she presently experienced had nothing to do with Booth, and everything to do with the guilt accompanying the knowledge that she should have said something sooner. Hank had told her that she would know when the timing was right, but Hank hadn't known she and Booth were only months away from fracturing, and a little over a year away from breaking completely. The right moment could have come and gone a hundred times over while they hadn't been _them _and she wouldn't have been any the wiser.

When she felt the noise in her own head becoming as deafening and senseless as the noise generated by the people she interacted with daily, Brennan spun the wheel on her iPod and cranked the volume. She ignored every fact she knew about headphones and inner ear damage, and she ran faster. If Cam could be a doctor that smoked, _she_ could be a doctor that listened to her music just a little too loud.

She was looping back to her car when her phone began to vibrate inside her shirt pocket, and she sighed as she tried to reach for it without breaking her stride. Sometimes having her phone nearby at all times was, as Booth would say, a real pain in the ass.

"Brennan," she breathed without looking at the display.

"You sound like you're out of breath, Bones. What's the matter? Out of shape?"

She grinned at the playful sound of his voice and broke into an all out sprint as her vehicle came into view, not once considering how ridiculous she looked running at full speed with her cell phone attached to her ear. "I believe that, as you still have yet to leave your bed, you are in no position to judge me."

"How'd you know I'm still in bed?"

"Your bedroom has a distinctive echo, Booth."

"Alright, smartypants, what am I doing now?"

Brennan skidded to a stop and fished her keys out of the sweater tied around her waist, all the while listening carefully to the background noise on Booth's end. "You are shuffling papers... Booth, is that my manuscript? Stop that! Put it down!"

His laughter rang in her ears. "You're becoming quite the mind reader, Bones."

"No, it's not mind reading. It's simple deductive reasoning. I should know better than to leave things like that where you can find them," Brennan commented without any real ire.

"Are you about done?"

After stretching quickly, she stepped inside the car and balanced the phone against her shoulder as she placed the key in the ignition and struggled to find the arm holes in her sweater.

"I am coming back now," she confirmed, starting the engine.

"Great."

"You sound happy," she stated with a smile as she eased her car into traffic. "I'm glad."

"I feel calmer," Booth responded guardedly. "We'll figure something out, okay? Tomorrow's Saturday... all we have to do is get through this day, and we're golden."

"Yes. Golden."

It would be more complicated; something inside of her seemed to know it. But if Booth needed to view the situation in simpler, vaguer terms, if holding out for a perfect, private weekend helped him survive, then she felt no pressing desire to tamper with his inner optimist.

"Anything specific you're craving this morning? I can have breakfast ready by the time you get here."

"No, Booth," she answered honestly, "but I am looking forward to your company."

* * *

><p>Booth hummed along – in a relatively subdued manner – with the music pouring from the stereo in the living room. He had cranked the stereo as loud as he had dared after getting dressed; the sun was shining, it was Friday, and no one had stolen his morning paper from outside his door. These were good things. Unfortunately, being sidetracked by the loud music and his air guitar had led to a fire atop his unattended stove, ergo, he was determined to maintain his focus long enough to succeed this time around. They hadn't made it through sex yesterday morning, but maybe they could make it through breakfast today. Maybe even lunch. He was still angry, but today, he felt control. And that was a good start.<p>

He stirred the pot containing Brennan's oatmeal and turned down the fire, and he heard the front door open a moment before a second voice joined his. Loud, slightly off-key, and oh so beautiful.

_And I was shakin' at the knees!_

Booth grinned and slid into the hallway to greet her, oatmeal forgotten, and the infectious joy on her face helped him entirely forget all anger. They shouted the next line together with wild abandon.

_Could I come again pleaaaase._

Brennan placed her iPod on his bookshelf and jumped in adorable circles while rocking her own air guitar, and Booth filed the image away as the music continued to play.

* * *

><p>There was a difference between ignoring an issue and consciously making the decision to address it at a later time, when one maybe did not feel quite so fragile. Brennan understood this and Booth understood this, and as she stole bites of his toast and he commandeered all the good parts of the paper, they recharged.<p>

"Booth!" Brennan protested loudly as he again reached for her orange juice and she – again – slapped his hand away. "There is an entire carton in the refrigerator directly behind you! Just get your own glass!"

"I don't want a whole glass, Bones, I just want a taste."

"You've had half already!"

He muttered something generically offensive about women and inabilities to share, and then he stood to retrieve a glass from the cupboard. When he sat back at the table she smirked into her coffee mug, but refrained from comment. A glance at the oven clock told Booth that they had fifteen minutes maximum before they had to leave, and without any real conscious thought he began to slip into a more professional mind-set. A quick glance at Brennan told him that she had begun to do the same. She drained her coffee and then studied him, and he had to fight to keep from shifting uncomfortably under her focused gaze.

"What?"

She frowned and Booth could all but see her weighing her options before deciding whether or not she was going to follow through.

"Bones," he prompted.

"I had a dream last night." The words came out bluntly. The way she spoke when the thought was weighing so heavily on her chest, there was visible relief to be seen in her expression when it finally came out.

Now it was Booth's turn to study her. "Bad dream?"

"Not exactly."

He waited. There was a time to prod and a time to simply be patient.

"It was about my mother. And me, I think. I've forgotten a fair bit already."

"How did you feel when you woke up?"

"Sad." She gave him a half smile. "Safe."

"Safe is good."

Brennan nodded thoughtfully. "You have dreams, sometimes. Bad dreams. About when you were young."

Booth exhaled slowly. "Yeah. Sometimes."

She watched his face carefully for any sign that this was one of those instances in which it would be in her best interest – and his – to wait. To simply be patient. Finding none, she continued.

"Do you ever have good dreams about your past? Do you ever wake up feeling slightly sad, but also inexplicably safe?"

He pondered this. The truth was, his adult mind tended to flash back to adult traumas when he dreamt. But when he did dream of that period of his life, when he had been so young, the good dreams tended to fall after he had gone to live with his grandfather. And he knew that wasn't what she was asking.

"I wake up next to you," he answered finally. "That's good enough for me, Bones."

* * *

><p>Booth had been four years old the first time that he had broken his arm. He had been playing in his backyard and grown tired of his toy cars, and while his mother's back was turned he had quickly climbed from the lawnmower to the barbeque, from the barbeque to the shed, and then from the shed to the fence that outlined the property. And then, just as quickly, he had fallen off. The memory was distant – and he couldn't be certain what parts of it were his and what parts of it were simply regurgitations of what had been recounted by his parents and his grandfather – but he remembered what it was to have the injury fade so far, so quickly, he had looked at the heavy plaster on his arm the next day without connecting its continued presence to the chain of events that no longer felt real.<p>

Today they drove to work and the events of the past twenty some odd hours seemed months behind him. There was the knowledge that his father had shown up at his partner's sanctuary, and that he had destroyed his own car, and that there had been sex and anger and resentment, but like the cast on his arm, the only evidence that it had been reality lay in the bite mark on his shoulder. He adjusted his collar surreptitiously and felt his shirt rub against the bruise no one but Bones would ever see.

There seemed to be negative connotations to every secret he had ever held in regards to his past, but every secret, every private joke and knowing glance and subtle body hint, between him and Bones, thrilled him.

When Brennan pulled up to the Hoover's front entrance she waited patiently as Booth gathered his things, and then she began to laugh. It was subtle at first – nothing more than a chortle, really – but as the seconds passed and she became increasingly amused by her thought, she dissolved into the kind of breathless laughter Booth had come to associate with things that were mildly amusing – at best – to most people, but downright hilarious to her.

"What is it?" he asked warily.

"Nothing." Brennan made a valiant attempt to subdue herself but promptly burst into peals of laughter once more. "It's really nothing. I just- I feel like I'm dropping Parker off at school. And I was reflecting on how absurd it would be for me to tell you to behave, or have a good day, or listen... any number of the clichéd statements I have observed _you _say to Parker as he gets out of the car."

"You're ridiculous sometimes, you know that?"

"Tomorrow, I am going to make you lunch, and present it to you in a brown paper bag," she giggled.

There was no reasoning with her once she reached this point. While it was occasionally an annoyance (some things were just _not _that funny), today, all he wanted to do was laugh with her. So he did. They laughed together and then they shared one of their looks, and while the smiles stayed in place, the mood became more sombre.

"Have a good day, Booth," Brennan said sincerely.

The kiss he gave her was brief, but it conveyed gratitude and affection in spades. "Thanks."

"I was making a joke when I said that I was going to make your lunch," she added seriously as he stepped out of the car. "I'm not going to do that."

"You wouldn't be you if you did, Bones," he winked.

"Bye."

"Be careful."

Booth rolled his eyes as she smirked in response, and he vowed to maybe make a conscious effort to regulate the number of times that phrase passed his lips in the duration of a single day. He was becoming way too easy a mark for her. He shut the door and stepped back from the curb, waved, then stuck his hands in his pockets while he waited for her to pull into traffic and head toward the lab.

When Brennan was beyond his sight, Booth turned toward the building and took one step forward before stopping abruptly. There was heavy foot traffic on the sidewalk – usual, for this time of day – and Booth vaguely recognised a few of the agents milling about near the revolving doors, and to the side, leaning against one of the supporting columns, was his father.

Emotions flitted through him rapidly, but when a self defensive indifference settled in, he held on to it. He allowed himself to grind his teeth together once, and then he determinedly unclenched his jaw and walked purposefully forward.

"It's been a long time, Seel."

The sound of the voice was the same. More weathered, perhaps, but when one factored in years of alcohol abuse, that was hardly surprising. Booth marvelled at the way his mind automatically analysed the pitch and determined it to be nonthreatening. For now. He wondered what kind of explanation Bones could provide concerning early learned behaviours and brain chemistry. He wondered if she would provide any explanation at all, or immediately dismiss the idea because it danced too close to that line between science and psychology. However, because he was Booth, because of this man and wars and _life_, he thought of all these things and yet he walked by the father he hadn't known in over thirty years as if he neither saw nor heard him.

He had a good life now and he had worked hard and endured heartache to get it. And this latest development didn't matter.

The only tell to Booth's discomfort could be seen in the hand that remained in his pocket, fingering the token reminder of another life and a version of himself he was ever-thankful he had left behind long ago. But Joseph Booth didn't know his tells, so the small giveaway was yet another thing that didn't matter.

"Give me two minutes, Seeley. I'm not asking much."

Booth's jaw locked in place again and _that _muscle began to tick furiously under the pressure. His hesitation was not born from any notion that he owed his father anything, but rather from the thought that if he spoke to him here, now, the man would have no reason to ever go near the Jeffersonian and his team again. He carefully voided his face of all expression and backtracked, stopping a few feet in front of his father and folding his arms across his chest expectantly.

Joseph chuckled awkwardly. "You're going to make this as difficult as possible, aren't you? Same old Seeley."

Booth's stance shifted as he pointedly displayed his mounting impatience. Joseph wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and Booth took in the slight tremor of his fingers the same way he had taken in the off-coloured skin and obvious exhaustion. His face remained disinterested, neutral, but as always, he observed everything. Like the obvious outward symptoms of alcohol withdrawal.

_Same old Seeley_.

His fingers found the poker chip once again and traced its engravings. He _wasn't _the same Seeley, that was for damn sure, but there were some things, _other _things, things about his father, that hadn't changed. He was still a drunk. He was a sober drunk for the moment, but he was a drunk just the same.

There was some uncomfortable throat clearing, and then Joseph chose the exact wrong thing to say. "Your girlfriend sure is gorgeous. Or is she your wife? What the hell does 'partner' mean, anyway? I can't keep up with the lingo today."

Booth's fists clenched and all the poker chips in the universe couldn't have stopped the restlessness now pulsing through every muscle in his hands. He wouldn't yell or punch or throw him to the ground and kick him. Because that was what he suddenly wanted to do and Booth knew how to push that urge down down down. Because he wasn't _him_, and goddamn it, he could control himself.

All the same, he didn't realise he had taken a step forward until his father took an unconscious half-step back.

"You don't talk to her. You don't even think about her," Booth breathed in a low, dark tone that was far more intimidating than anything he could have yelled. "Don't push me. You have no idea what I'm capable of. None."

There was a brief flash of that anger some part of Booth had never forgotten from Joseph as he instinctively reacted to the challenge, and then it was gone. But Booth had seen enough. Because the truth was, quick tempered alcoholics who beat children didn't change. And seeking him out – whether it was for redemption or forgiveness or a second chance decades too late – wouldn't bring results of any kind. He calmed the part of himself that went on the immediate protective offensive when Brennan was concerned, and he took a step back.

"I was just trying to break the ice a little, Seel."

"Well don't. What were you expecting, a high five?"

Joseph dragged the back of his hand over his mouth again. "Your bodyguard over at that museum wouldn't so much as let me leave a message. This wasn't how I planned on doing this."

Booth smirked internally. Cam was slight, but she was a force to be reckoned with. He almost wished he had been around to see the showdown from the previous morning. Almost.

"I'll be in the city until Thursday." He withdrew a card from his pocket and flicked it in Booth's direction. Booth reflexively caught it and crumpled it in his fist without a glance. "Have the desk page me. We'll grab a drink."

Booth snorted. "Right."

His hands retreated back into his pockets and he turned his back. He was now officially late for his meeting, but if he hurried he could probably still make it out in time to check his messages and return calls and meet Bones for lunch...

"Seeley."

"What?" Booth snapped, irritated.

"I was thinking about that tree house today."

_He's young. The exact age is hazy but it's summer and the sun is bright and he leans over the wooden platform for the umpteenth time and stares in wonder at the ground so far below. _

_For the umpteenth time, his father calls him away from the ledge. "Back up, Seeley. I'm not going to tell you again." _

_He rocks back on his heels and complies (barely). He then sneaks a glance at his father, and Joseph merely shakes his head._

"_Hand me the hammer, will you Seel?"_

_He scampers across the platform and when he's older and has a son of his own he'll understand that this is a distraction technique employed by parents worldwide (even the not-so-good ones), but at the time he believes his presence is imperative to the success of this project, and he takes his role seriously._

"_Here."_

"_Thanks."_

"_When are we gonna be done?"_

"_Christ, Seeley, we've barely started. These things take work."_

"_But __**when**__?"_

"_We'll do what we can tonight and finish up after I get home tomorrow, okay?"_

_The irritation slipping into Joseph's tone is slight, but he's conditioned to recognise these things and he quiets. Today has been good and he doesn't want to ruin it. He wanders back to the open end of the platform – he's already forgotten that he's been warned yet again to stay clear of the edge – and plays absently with one of the empty beer cans while his father hammers a new board into place._

_He's rolling the can back and forth and despite the hiccup brought forth by his questions he's still revelling in his dad's company. And then he taps the can just a little too hard and it rolls just beyond his grasp and drops off the platform. He reaches for it. He's old enough to know better, but in the same manner that some small children chase runaway toys into the street, he's not thinking about the danger._

_He hears his father curse before he feels himself tumbling over the edge after the can. The panic is instant and his stomach turns; he's fallen from considerable heights before. Sometimes it's worth it and sometimes it isn't, but it always, __**always **__hurts._

_And then he's not falling anymore._

_There's still pain – it radiates quick and sharp through his arm as his weight is suspended in mid-air – but he's distracted by the tight line of his father's mouth and a facial expression that he has always associated with his mother, because to the best of his knowledge, he has never seen his father look __**worried **__before._

_It takes little effort to pull him to safety. He flinches when he finds himself back on the platform because his father is staring at him silently and that's sometimes how it goes before bad things begin to happen. But eventually his father picks up the hammer and a new plank and then turns to face the half finished wall._

"_Don't you dare tell your mother about this." _

_It's not often that he knows, with absolute certainty, that he is loved, but today he thinks does._

Booth blinked. "What tree house?"

Bones had suppressed her good memories; he remembered all of his. But you didn't get to just abandon people and then come back to reminisce because it was suddenly convenient. If he wanted to think about things like the tree house and stadium seats, he would think about the tree house and stadium seats. And if he wanted to play let's-trade-a-memory, he certainly wasn't going to play it with someone who was responsible for far more of the bad memories than the good ones.

"You don't remember." The tone was dubious, but he couldn't argue with Booth's flawless poker face.

"I don't remember."

Booth resumed his quick walk to the front entrance, and this time he didn't so much as hesitate when he heard his name thrown at his back. Because he was older now and it sure as hell didn't take something as dramatic as falling out of a tree for him to know with absolute certainty that he was loved. Joseph Booth could keep his goddamn tree house story.


	3. Chapter 3

See? I totally didn't even lie to you guys. It's been like a week and a half. Boom. Relatively speaking, there isn't too much going on in this chapter; the length started to get out of control (again) so I lopped off a lot of what I originally planned to put in here. But that just means that my next update will be fairly timely, as it's already half written, so hopefully that buys me some leniency. Yes? No? Oh well. I tried.

Sidenote: Jenn, this is the LAST time, okay? I mean it; I am DONE. No matter what the Gods try to say. Smut is not my forte.

* * *

><p>Cast me gently into morning<br>for the night has been unkind.  
>Take me to a place so holy<br>that I can wash this from my mind.

**The Answer, **Sarah McLachlan

_He's seven years old when he first learns the defensive benefits to being witty and charming. He's always been friendly. Kind. The sort of child that other children and adults alike gravitate toward. But he's seven when he becomes conscious of this fact and learns to play it to his advantage. He learns to keep people at arm's length while leaving them with the sense that he is an open book. Human beings are nosy creatures by nature but they are also willing to accept things at face value if information is offered with a smile and a funny story._

_His awakening occurs on an average day mid-May, and its trigger is tied to a girl (it always seems to come back to a girl). Beth Summers' desk is paired up with his in the third-to-front row of the classroom, and he finds it easier to be nice to her than any other girl his age. It could be because her hair is pretty and soft, or it could be because she knows how to be __**quiet **__so that he can concentrate, but mostly it's because he's noticed that she gets sick a lot and misses school, and she sometimes walks in a stiff, careful manner that he recognises because he sometimes has cause to walk like that too. They're connected. They don't talk to each other about anything outside of what normal seven year olds do, but when he has bad days she always __**knows **__and she silently gives him the cookie packed in her lunch, and when she has bad days he gives her his juice box without a second thought. They are not alone._

_Beth's best friend is Rachel Michaels, and on one of Seeley's bad days their teacher allows them to choose their own partners and work together on an activity sheet for their unit on weather. Seeley and a boy named Aaron share his desk while Rachel and Beth share hers and Seeley does his best to concentrate concentrate, even though Rachel's voice is loud at this distance and difficult to ignore. Aaron asks permission to use the bathroom and their teacher gives him a pass, and Seeley tries to keep working but the windows are all closed and the temperature is rising with the constant movement of twenty-something young bodies, and there is just too much going on inside and outside of his head today. He takes off his sweater. He promises himself that it will just be for a second, but a second is all that it takes._

"_What happened to your arm?"_

_Rachel's voice exudes girlish disgust mixed in with morbid curiosity, and Seeley and Beth exchange looks of trepidation. He's not sure where the inspiration comes from, but he grins for all he's worth and leans forward conspiratorially in a manner that would be interpreted as flirtatious if he were just a little bit older._

"_You wanna touch it?"_

"_Eww!" Rachel squeals dramatically._

"_It's bumpy but kind of mushy too. Just feel."_

_She gives into temptation and prods the discoloured spot with a cautious finger. Seeley keeps right on smiling even though her touch hurts to the point that he would really rather cry instead._

"_Gross."_

_There's admiration in her eyes now, and Seeley commits fully to this new role. He pulls up his shirt and exposes a long ugly scab on his belly._

"_See this?"_

"_Yeah," she encourages._

"_Me and my brother were playing swords on the weekend, and then he stabbed me. __**For real**__."_

"_Wow."_

"_See this one?"_

"_Yeah?" She's undeniably eager now and all former qualms have vanished. Beth keeps her eyes firmly on the activity sheet and fills in blanks with an aggressive hand, because it's as hard for her to watch this performance as it is for him to give it._

"_I cut it on a piece of glass. It bled for __**hours**__."_

_He's not lying. Lying is a sin and he believes that a higher power is watching. He is simply telling a story and leaving Rachel to form connections of her own._

_Even as he repeats this to himself, he prays for forgiveness. Because anything that feels this deceptive has to be a sin._

* * *

><p>Booth passed through security and nodded politely to the people that crossed his path in the shiny hallways. He made small talk with the other passengers on the elevator, and then he stepped off two floors early and headed toward the staircase. A little time. He could handle anything as long as he had just a little time.<p>

In the confines of the stairwell, Booth allowed himself three minutes to sit on a cold cement step (_concrete, Booth. It's concrete_) and think about anything (everything) besides his father. Parker. Bones. His son's smile and her smile and their laughter and the way Parker had recently taken to mimicking Brennan's distinctive head tilt when he was faced with something that confused him.

And that was that. He took the stairs two at a time to his floor and breezed into his meeting fifteen minutes late, and he offered a smile and an off-the-cuff excuse and the rest of his morning was a glorious whirlwind of activity.

Maintaining a pretense – great or small – was an exercise in stamina, however, and it was never a matter of _if _one would lose steam, but rather _when_. By lunchtime, the last of Booth's reserves were nearly depleted. Brennan texted to inform him that she couldn't meet him for lunch, but by that point he was too tired to even ask why. Instead, he headed straight for the vending machines in the break-room and inserted a handful of change into the slot. He had consumed so much coffee he was beginning to shake ever so slightly, and while he wasn't going to go through the trouble of eating out without his partner, he needed something in his stomach.

Booth grabbed the sandwich when it fell to the bottom of the machine and had every intention of retreating back to his office, but one of the receptionists walked in before he could slip away and basic etiquette demanded that he at least say hello.

"Agent Booth," she smiled conversationally. "Rough day?"

Booth grinned. "Nothing like being stuck in a two hour meeting to boost a guy's spirits."

"That's some meeting. You were looking dead on your feet for a moment there."

"I'm pretty much useless on an empty stomach." He held up his sandwich. "How's your son?"

She rolled her eyes. "Getting into _everything_. He's figured out how to pry off the socket covers on all the outlets; I caught him trying to jam a fork into one. I swear he'd burn the house down if someone wasn't watching him every moment."

"Parker damn near brought my apartment in on itself when he was that age; don't worry, it'll get better."

There were probably hundreds of things Booth loved about his partner. The thing that he loved _most_ changed on an almost hourly basis, but his love for her honesty and truthfulness was (basically) consistent. He was a practiced liar who had made a career out of reading people and manipulating them, and she couldn't even fabricate harmless white lies without cracking. It made him feel clean. Building a life with her made him feel as close to exoneration from decades of perceived wrong doings as confession. He wouldn't ever tell her; she would hate that. But the thoughts and feelings remained the same and it was for that reason that the longer he dwelt on the whole thing with his car, the worse it ate at him. He tried not to think about it, but sometimes, when he found himself in situations like these and he listened to the charming words falling easily from his mouth, he couldn't wait to see her and rid himself of the sensation of being _dirty_. And he hated to think that he risked forcing her to carry that burden every time she felt compelled to lie for his sake.

He shook his head and focused intently on his conversation, and he hoped against hope that maybe one thing would go right today and he could get home at a decent hour.

* * *

><p>"Bones, it's nearly seven thirty. We were supposed to leave forty five minutes ago."<p>

Brennan straightened from her position hunched over the examination table and glanced at her watch. Booth was right, of course, but as usual her inattention to the time had been accidental. She took in his tense features and fought to keep from sighing. Obviously, his day had not gone as well as she had hoped.

"I will need a few minutes to put these away, and then we can go," she said calmly.

Booth shifted impatiently. "Give me your keys. I'm waiting in the car."

She raised her eyebrows. "They're in my bag. You are quite capable of retrieving them yourself."

The response was automatic and Brennan immediately experienced a flash of self doubt as she wondered if these limits in her patience made her less than human. Less gracious than Booth would be if their situations were reversed. Before she could decide whether or not he deserved a little more leeway, Booth ducked his head and looked appropriately chagrined. And then she didn't feel so guilty.

He headed toward her office without further retort and she packed her skeleton back in its box. Today hadn't been an exceptionally pleasant day for her either. She had been in the sort of mood to simply be left alone with her work, and from the moment she had entered the lab it had seemed as if every intern under her had taken collective leave of their capacity for independent thought. She wasn't a babysitter; that was Cam's job.

Brennan breathed deeply, focusing on carefully arranging her bones and cleaning her work station in an attempt to calm her mind. She and Booth couldn't both be in this mood; they would kill each other.

The door to her office closed a little too firmly, and then Booth left the lab without so much as a glance in her direction. Brennan did her best to ignore this and instead picked up her box and made her way down the platform stairs.

The first time that Booth had spent more than two consecutive nights at her apartment, Brennan had ordered him out on the third day and then phoned Angela to discuss the _impossibility _of sharing her space with someone who couldn't even respect her enough to keep her CDs in alphabetical order. Angela had patiently explained to her that relationships were marathons, and one would quickly pass out from cramps and heatstroke if one did not pace oneself. At the time, Brennan had understood that she was the 'one' in question and she had promptly hung up the phone. Because frankly, if Angela couldn't firmly take her side, she hadn't wanted to talk to her.

She was presently learning the art of compromise and picking her battles. Her friend's advice had proved sound; if she and Booth fought as passionately about the things of little consequence as they did the important things, they would never find the energy to do anything else. Emotional roller-coasters were tiring.

Since most of her current irritation stemmed from work (read, her coworkers), Brennan resolved to leave work at work and just get the hell out of there before Booth came back and she forgot all about her revelations regarding compromises and roller-coasters and marathons.

And of course, that was when she was intercepted.

"Dr. Brennan!"

She sighed and turned toward the voice. Booth was not going to be happy.

* * *

><p>Booth rifled through the CDs stacked neatly inside the compartment beneath her console box and eventually opted to turn the radio on instead. She had good taste in music, but everything inside the car seemed either too loud or too girly for what he wanted at the moment. He tried to move the seat back and was quickly reminded that he had already moved it as far backward as the track allowed, and then he let his head thump against the headrest in defeat.<p>

_Goddamn _it. He _hated _this car.

A near eternity passed before he recognized the rhythm of Brennan's steps falling against the ground; her heels created an echo across the parking garage that he would know anywhere. It was about time. He looked out the rear window and the cause of her delay was made immediately clear as he saw Daisy power-walking to keep up, like a puppy at her heels.

For crying out loud.

Brennan's lips were pressed tightly together and the lines in her furrowed brow made it clear she was none too happy with the company. Booth shrunk into his seat and hoped to God he could get out of there without having to talk to any squint outside his own. He wasn't in the mood to be cordial and in his experience, while it was acceptable for Brennan to yell at the interns, she took grave offense to him doing the same.

They reached the vehicle and Brennan shot Booth an annoyed look through the window when she yanked on the handle and found it locked. He scrambled to hit the power lock button on the driver's side and then winced as Daisy's quick chatter became a hundred times clearer through the open door.

"...and with that in mind I was thinking that it would be prudent if you graded my paper _first _so that-

"Miss Wick, I'm going home. I will see you next week."

"But Dr. Brennan, that's what I've been trying to _tell _you-

"Is this something that will directly affect the Jeffersonian or its employees over the course of the weekend?" Brennan interrupted, already half in the car.

Daisy paused. "No?"

"Then send me an e-mail and I will respond when I have time."

Any other day, Booth would have laughed at the utterly discombobulated expression that only Daisy appeared to have the skills necessary to bring to Brennan's face, but right now he was stressed out and exhausted and hungry and for Christ's sake, he had been counting on being home at least a half hour ago. So when she shut the door and turned the key in the ignition, the words that came out of his mouth were neither gentle nor teasing.

"Seriously, Bones? You couldn't have sped along the process by getting rid of her while you were still inside?"

Brennan exhaled slowly and stared straight ahead. She eventually backed out of the parking space and shifted the vehicle into gear, and only then did she turn to face him.

"Please do not speak."

And with that, she turned up the volume on the radio in order to pre-emptively drown out any protests he may have considered making.

* * *

><p>If Booth and Brennan had come together any sooner than they did – if they had leapt over the precipice <em>that <em>night outside the Hoover, or after his tumour, or when he pulled her out of a pit of earth and rock – these moments of conflict between them would be punctuated by slammed doors and sharp-tipped words they didn't mean and stubborn quests for dominance in displays of anger-stamina. They would take one another for granted. They would assume that they could afford to be childish and petty.

But they hadn't come together then. They had broken each other's hearts and they had fled to different worlds, and they had come back and they had been _different _in a way that neither of them could stand. They had lost track of the ways they had hurt one another, and they had rebuilt themselves from ashes. They didn't take one another for granted. They tried their best to avoid being childish and petty, because neither one of them was strong enough to endure that kind of pain for a second time.

They still argued (because sometimes they were different in all the wrong ways and the same in all the wrong ways, and these things would always, _always _happen). Doors were sometimes slammed and harsh words were exchanged, but mostly there existed the knowledge that there was nothing quite so bad as being without the other. They waited out the anger. They fumed, but they watched each other as often as they could and they were never as surreptitious about it as they thought. They danced silently in the same space, reassuring themselves that they were _connected _and the other person wasn't running and it was okay to be upset as long as they didn't forget.

I hate you right now, but I don't hate you enough to leave you. I don't hate you enough to ever want to be without you.

By the time they entered Brennan's apartment, they had settled into an over-polite kind of silence. They moved out of one another's way as coats were hung in closets and keys were hung on hooks, and Brennan allowed him to use the master bathroom first while she changed out of her work clothes.

He found her in the kitchen, and he took a moment to watch her as she reached into the high shelves of her cupboard for her wine glasses. When he remembered that he had been the last one to do dishes and he had probably pushed the glasses back further than she could easily reach, he stepped into the kitchen and gently guided her aside with a hand cupped to her hip.

Instead of accepting the glasses that Booth held out to her, Brennan wound her arms tightly around his neck and pulled her body flush against his. Booth released a surprised breath as his girlfriend apparently tried to choke the life out of him. This was new.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm hugging you to make you feel better."

"Comfort hugs aren't usually this aggressive, Bones. I can't breathe."

Her grip eased slightly, but she remained unapologetic. "My 'aggressive' initiation of physical contact is meant to assuage both your desire for confrontation and my own lingering frustration with your behaviour. I have discovered that we often find it difficult to remain agitated once one person 'gives,' as you phrase it."

"So you're giving?"

"Yes. I'm giving."

Her voice was tinged with pride at her assumption that she had used the expression in its correct context, and he was so charmed that he neglected to point out that when one gives in, they traditionally don't start by subtly blaming their disagreeability on the other person.

It was a pretty damn good aggressive-comfort-hug.

His arms wrapped easily around her body. He relaxed. If she could give – in more ways than one – then so could he.

"I saw my dad this morning," he murmured into her hair.

Brennan pressed her face into his neck and inhaled the clean-laundry scent of his t-shirt. "Where?"

She sounded curious at this point more than anything; there were no exaggerated displays of sympathy or pity. It may have come off as an odd response from anyone else, but he was accustomed to answering her questions and trusting that he would catch up to her in time.

"At work. Just after you dropped me off."

"Did you hit him?"

"No." He swallowed and thought of the trembling in his fingers and the immediate rage that had filled him when he realised that man had been watching him. Watching _her_. But he had controlled it. And that was a victory. "No, I didn't hit him."

"You sound..." her voice broke off as she struggled, "... mad."

"A little."

"But not at me."

"No. I'm not mad at you."

"And... not just at him?" Brennan's pitch rose slightly, posing the statement as a question because so often, she still wasn't sure. She still wasn't always confident in her emotional interpretations, even when it came to him.

Booth sighed and tucked her head back against his chest. Because her eyes were bright and clear and intense and _he _wasn't always comfortable with the way she stared. There was a part of him that still feared she would one day find a darkness in him that she couldn't handle.

"Not just at him."

"I'm glad that you didn't hit him," she said definitively. "While it would have been very satisfying, and while he most certainly deserves it, it would have been embarrassing for you to have to explain such a thing to anyone you work with. You are a very private person, Booth."

The hug had been a nice gesture, but their position – limbs locked together in the middle of the kitchen – was becoming slightly absurd for this conversation. They came to this realisation at practically the same time and Brennan pulled out a bar stool while Booth hopped up on the island.

"I was doing okay." Booth absently twisted one of the glass stems and Brennan fought the urge to still his hands. "I was doing okay and then the thought of him watching us, watching _you_... being anywhere near you, sharing the same air as you... it makes me crazy, Bones."

Understanding donned on her. "You're upset with yourself due to what you perceive to be an easy manipulation of your emotions."

"Every time I feel like that, whether I hit him or not, it's like he's winning. And that makes me furious."

Brennan nodded but opted not to comment, and Booth found slight relief in her silence. He ran a hand over his face and took a moment to organise his thoughts while Brennan looked on, and he was suddenly much more tired than he was angry. Another half a minute passed before he clued in to the near imperceptive twitch of her fingers every time the glass clinked against the marble countertop, and then he stilled his movement and gave her a sheepish smile.

"Sorry."

She smiled back. "It's okay. I somehow find your restlessness to be simultaneously irritating and comforting."

"Only you could call me irritating and still make me smile," he smirked.

"I am unique in many ways," she informed him.

"That you are, Bones, that you are."

Her smile disappeared suddenly. "Jared."

With one word, all the tension came rushing back into Booth's body. He muttered a few choice expletives and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He hadn't thought of his brother once in the time between meeting Cam at the lab yesterday morning and this moment. He found himself relieved that Brennan had thought of him and annoyed that she had as well. This was not a conversation he wanted to have.

"You have to tell him, Booth."

Her tone was serious and void of any sympathy for his plight. _She_ had the kind of brother who had not seen fit to tell her that he had been in close contact with a father she hadn't thought she would ever see again, and if she was honest with herself, she would have to admit that she couldn't forgive him for that.

She loved her brother. She loved that she _had _a brother to speak of after all the years she had been without him. But sometimes she thought of the raw betrayal that had ripped through her when she had realised who her father was _and _saw her brother drive away with him in short order, and she felt sick. Jared was far from her favourite person, but that wasn't a feeling she would wish on anyone, and it certainly wasn't a feeling she would want associated with Booth in any capacity.

There was a bit of that anger creeping back in and it would have been so easy to throw something suitably sarcastic her way to end this conversation, but Booth physically bit down on his tongue and waited for the impulse to fade. He knew why this was important to her. He recognised the excessive urgency and desperation that overtook her face when an action stopped being for the sole benefit of another person.

"I'm not going to keep this from him, Bones," he reassured her. "I'll call him after we eat; I'm starving."

It was Brennan's turn to look sheepish as she relaxed back into her chair, but when Booth began to absently fiddle with the glasses again, she leapt up and impatiently snatched them out of his hands.

"I thought you said you found that comforting," he said, surprised by both her speed and the abrupt shift in temperament.

"I _said_ that I also found it irritating. At this moment I feel very little comfort and a great deal of irritation."

Booth gave a good-natured roll of his eyes in silent response as she filled the glasses generously, and then he shifted his weight off the counter to aid in their dinner preparations.

They had settled well into this relatively new routine; the kitchen was modern and there was space to move around, but they always seemed to end up occupying the same space without actually impeding one another's progress. By the time that dinner was in the oven, they had each finished their glass of wine and succumbed to the warm, gentle relaxation it provided. Booth appreciatively took in the rear view as she closed the oven door and a pleased smile appeared on Brennan's face when she turned to face him.

"Angela would call what you're doing right now 'eye-fucking.' It is a crass expression, but applicable nonetheless."

Booth grimaced. "Do you have to repeat everything Angela says?"

"You should be thanking her, Booth," Brennan began nonchalantly. "I would not have gone shopping today had it not been for her insistence."

The knowledge of the perpetually filthy way Angela's mind worked, coupled with the words 'insistence' and 'shopping' perked Booth's ears.

"What did you buy?"

"Underwear," Brennan answered casually, save for the mischievous gleam she couldn't keep out of her eyes. "Angela called them slutty. I still don't understand how it is particularly complimentary to be compared to a prostitute, but she seemed very excited about it."

Slutty underwear. Finally; a bright side to this day.

"When did you find time to go shopping today?"

"On my lunch hour."

"You cancelled on me to go underwear shopping with Angela?"

Brennan flushed. "Angela thought it would provide a welcome distraction for you. If I had known that you had already faced your father, I would have resisted the idea a little more strenuously."

Booth's lips twitched upward. "So, just how slutty is this underwear?"

"Quite slutty," she answered. "I feel very confident that you will find them sexually alluring."

"I find practically everything about you sexually alluring, Bones."

Her coquettish half smile was replaced with the full sized grin he lived to bring to her face.

"I am going to start washing the dishes," she deflected. "You should call Jared."

* * *

><p>It took him ten minutes to make the call, and in the end the motivating factor lay in Booth's belief that Bones would be unlikely to be in the mood to parade around in slutty underwear if he failed to contact his brother. The phone rang a handful of times before going to voicemail and Booth gratefully ended the call; this wasn't the sort of bomb he could drop in a message. He could honestly tell Bones that he had tried and then put off phoning again for a couple hours.<p>

Soft strains of music drifted through the walls. A few rooms away, Brennan was systematically washing dishes. Outside, traffic was crawling and impatient drivers were blasting their horns. Life carried on. It seemed almost insulting that the earth didn't stop in its tracks in the face of personal adversity, but the fact remained unchanged and if his partner could carry on, he would carry on with her. Because she made things bright, bearable, and on occasion, just a little bit slutty.

Booth's hand was on the doorknob when his phone chirped. He managed to hold back the sigh, but he couldn't keep his shoulders from slumping in disappointment.

"Hey."

"What have I done now, Seeley?" Jared's smooth voice, tinged with amusement, echoed in Booth's ear.

"What, I can't just call you to see how you're doing?"

"You _could_, but you wouldn't," Jared responded confidently before heaving an exaggerated sigh. "You didn't leave a message, which means you're _really _unimpressed about something. And whatever it is, you're going to want to yell at me about it in person; am I right?"

"This is serious."

"It always is with you, Seeley."

Booth ran a hand through his hair and went straight to the point. He and Jared could go in circles like this for an eternity if he didn't stay focused. "What are you doing tomorrow night?"

"And by 'what are you doing,' you mean 'clear your calendar.'" Booth made no comment and Jared humoured his obvious impatience. "I guess we can grab dinner tomorrow night. As long as you're okay with Padme coming."

"Jared, this isn't a couple's night out, okay? I'm serious. You and me."

"Padme's been at a conference out of town the last four days; I kind of had plans for tomorrow night, if you know what I mean. I'm not coming without her."

Booth almost took the argument further, but the last thing he wanted was to be subjected to another sanctimonious speech from his little brother about the lack of secrets between him and his girl.

"Whatever. Fine. The bar? Or do you have objections to that, too?"

"C'mon, Seel, we always go to the bar. I'll make us reservations somewhere and text you the address."

"Great."

"See you then."

"Don't forget, Jared."

"I'm not going to forget, Seeley! God."

Rushed goodbyes were exchanged and Booth left Brennan's bedroom twice as exhausted as he had been when he entered it. Her music was still playing and he followed the unique rhythm created by acoustic melodies and the gentle sounds of sloshing water and clinking dishes. His hand fell easily to her hip as he reached around her for the tea towel and annoyance flashed through her eyes when she startled – she really did hate it when he snuck up on her – but upon observing the tension in his face, a slow smile came to her own.

"What?" he asked suspiciously.

Her smile grew wider as she placed another plate in the drying bin. "I imagine your expression now to be similar to the one you claim I have following a conversation with Daisy Wick. It's quite amusing."

Booth shook his head. "There's going to come a day when Daisy will no longer be your responsibility; I'm never gonna be free of Jared."

Brennan rolled her eyes at the slightly dramatic statement, but decided to let it slide. He'd had a long day. "Did you tell him about your father?"

"Nah, Bones. That's not the kind of thing you tell people over the phone. We're going to meet up tomorrow night." He paused. "You wanna come with me?"

She frowned. "I don't think that would be appropriate. You two should have time to talk. Alone."

"Yeah well, Jared's bringing Padme, so it's only fair. You can kick me under the table when I step out of line if you want. You like doing that." He picked up a glass bowl and moved to store it in the far cupboard.

The crease in Brennan's brow deepened and she allowed the pot in her hand to fill with water and drift to the bottom of the sink. She waited for him to close the cupboard, and then she commanded his full attention.

"Are you asking me to come with you because you want me with you, or because you are trying to irritate Jared?"

Booth dropped the towel on the counter and his hand gravitated to that spot at her side as if it was drawn by magnet. "Because I want you with me, Bones. We're a team."

She accepted this. Because when he looked her in the eye as if more important words had never been spoken, she couldn't help but believe him. She didn't believe in absolutes, but she believed in Booth.

"In that case, I would very much like to accompany you."

* * *

><p>"Booth?"<p>

His eyes fluttered open at the sound of his name, and Booth stretched on Brennan's couch before tossing the book resting on his chest onto the coffee table.

Brennan had fallen behind on her grading while they had been immersed in their last case, and she had seized the opportunity after dinner to catch up. It was comforting and oh so normal to watch her intently correct the proposals of her interns, but as much as Booth loved her, he could only sit there silently for so long. He had left her in the kitchen and settled on the couch with one of her novels – he _really _needed to convince her to get a full sized television – and then, evidently, he had fallen asleep.

"Booth?"

She called his name for the second time, and since Booth was a little more alert by now, he picked up on the lower, huskier lilt in her speech that he had come to think of as her bedroom voice. He sat up straight and turned toward the sound, and Brennan smirked confidently at him from where she stood against the hallway wall.

The slip itself was sheer black lace and strapless, and it didn't hide any more of her perfect body than the skimpy, solid black panties she wore beneath it. Secure in her belief that she had captured his full attention, she took a step forward and watched his eyes immediately drop from her face to the breasts that were just barely contained in a red, half-cup halter sling fitted over top of the slip. In the store, the salesclerk had informed her that the cups were for support, but they just barely braced the underside of her breasts and Brennan failed to see what kind of support the halter could possibly provide for any woman with breasts larger than an A-sized cup.

"I finished my marking," she informed him. "I'm ready for sex now."

"That's... great, Bones."

As Booth blinked rapidly and tried to reconcile the image of the Brennan he had left in the kitchen – clad in jeans and a nondescript t-shirt and certainly lacking fuck-me-heels – with the Brennan before him oozing sensuality, she rounded the couch and planted her knees on either side of him, trapping him between her stocking clad thighs.

"You're very quiet, Booth," she observed in a teasing whisper. "Has the cat got your tongue?"

The phrase was tongued slowly and awkwardly, and the wide smile that broke across her face in its wake caused him to laugh and close the three inch gap between their mouths. _That _was his Bones; an irresistible combination of sexy and adorable and child-like delight at the _weirdest _things.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured against her lips.

His hands found her hips and he pulled her down on his lap, and Brennan wormed her hands beneath his t-shirt to run her fingers up and down the bare skin of his torso. He sucked in a breath and she slipped her tongue into his mouth, and then they were both lost in a duel for dominance and a desire to reciprocate the pleasure they were receiving. Booth's mouth moved to her throat and he licked and nipped his way down to the flimsy lace edgings that began just above her nipples; nipples that were already pebbled tight and hard and strained against the coarse fabric. His tongue laved one peak and then the other, and she arched her back when his mouth left her and exposed the wet lace to the cool air.

"Again," she breathed.

He moved to repeat the action, but Brennan quickly grew frustrated with his overabundance of clothing and began to pull impatiently on his shirt. When he twisted his body in an attempt to help her, the shirt came off much quicker than she anticipated and her momentum very nearly sent her toppling to the floor.

Once again, Booth's quick reflexes saved the day.

"Maybe we should move to the bedroom," he chuckled as he pulled her against his chest.

"Yes. Bedroom."

They were doing their best to untangle their limbs and work up to a standing position when Brennan ground herself into his growing length (and action that was _not _as accidental as she would have him believe, he was sure) and he gasped as his arousal pressed uncomfortably into the zipper of his jeans.

"Now," he ordered breathlessly. "Now, or we won't make it off the couch."

She nodded wordlessly and pulled him up with her once her feet hit the floor, and then they were attached at the mouth once again as they worked their way from the living room to the hallway and from the hallway to the bedroom, bumping into corners and tables and leaving priceless artifacts to wobble precariously in their wake.

Somewhere along the way Booth lost his belt, and by the time they reached her room his pants were around his knees and he was rock hard and being fondled in her capable hands. And their roles were suddenly reversed as it occurred to him that there was now far too much material between him and _her_ naked flesh. As soon as his legs were free of his pants, he ran his hands along her back in search of a zipper or clasp or some fucking clue as to how this thing came undone.

Brennan squirmed against his chest and he raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"It itches," she defended.

"I don't doubt it."

"It's also very expensive, so don't-

There was the sound of ripping fabric, and Brennan sighed. Clearly, there was no point in finishing that sentence.

"Sorry."

"No you're not."

"You would have never worn it again anyway."

"That's probably true."

"How do I get this off?"

"You- Ow, Booth! You're pulling my hair- it's- there are three pieces! Would you just wait a minute?"

While the previous night had been desperate and demanding and laden with an intensity almost too great to bear, there was a playfulness currently in the air much more reminiscent of yesterday morning. And it felt good to laugh in bed together, because there had been a part of each of them that had wondered how long it would be before they could once again find it in themselves to simply enjoy what they had without feeling this pressure to catalogue every waking moment and action. They had wondered how long it would be before they could find release without feeling the proverbial shoe hovering above their heads, just waiting to drop and destroyed them.

They tumbled onto the mattress - teasing and groping and breathless pants mixed with excited laughter - and it was only when he was naked and she was covered solely by a tiny triangle of black panty, that Booth sobered. Brennan followed his eyes to the bruise on her hip the approximate size of a silver dollar, and she frowned.

"Stop."

"Stop what?"

"We've talked about this."

And they had. Time and time again. But it didn't make it any easier for Booth to see marks on her perfect, even skin and know that he had put them there. Especially this time, when the memory of the possessiveness that had overtaken him as he thrust into her – as he had declared her _his_ – was still so fresh in his mind.

Brennan pushed him back against the headboard and straddled his lap, pressing hot kisses up his chest and then soothingly running her tongue over the remnants of marks _she _had left all over his body the night before.

"Do these upset you?" she murmured.

"Of course not."

"And it's not beyond conceivability that I could feel the same as you do."

"No..."

"You _know _how I feel about double standards, Booth." She gave him a sultry smile and pressed slower, seductive kisses down his body, maintaining eye contact and trying to bring back the light-hearted atmosphere of only moments before. The kisses went down one leg and up the other, and she finally brushed a single line of agonizingly light touches against his shaft before taking him into her mouth and swirling her tongue around him. Booth's eyes closed and his hips bucked off the mattress.

"Shit," he muttered.

There was a wet popping sound as Brennan pulled her lips off his member and grinned with obvious self-satisfaction.

"What are you thinking about now, Booth?"

He opened eyes glassy and dark with arousal, and he tried to fight through the heady daze brought on by intense stimulation to fire back a retort and maybe even the playing field a little. But his blood really _was _only capable of flowing to one head at a time.

"Shut up," he growled.

He lunged at her, she laughed heartily, and all thoughts of bruising fled his mind.

* * *

><p>They were sated and quiet, settled beneath her blankets in the dark with the knowledge that it was too early to go to sleep and yet too late to feel sufficiently motivated to get back out of bed. Brennan rolled onto Booth's solid chest and rested her chin atop her hands.<p>

"Are you sure you want me to come with you tomorrow?"

Booth nodded and absently ran a hand up and down her arm. "Yeah, Bones. I'm sure."

"If it goes badly, we can always create an excuse to leave early," she suggested.

It was meant to be a joke, but Booth felt that sick little quiver in his belly at the thought of her lying simply for the sake of convenience. The timing was just a little too in tune with his earlier musings for him to be able to see the humour.

"We could," he said nonchalantly.

Brennan felt his arms tighten around her and she furrowed her brow. "Why are you upset?"

"I wish you hadn't lied about the SUV." There; he had said it. "I don't want you lying for me, Bones, okay? I hate that those are the kind of things you learn by being around me."

She was quiet for a long time and Booth closed his eyes. "Look, Bones-

"You overestimate yourself," Brennan cut in coolly.

"Huh?" She shifted slightly to look him in the eye, and Booth realised that he had grossly misinterpreted what could now be very clearly recognised as anger. "Why are _you _upset?"

"I dislike dishonesty, and it is true that I am not particularly skilled at lying, but I have committed unsavoury acts before, Booth. Without your influence."

She paused and they both remembered another situation that had involved someone else she loved and a lot of heart and a deceptiveness Booth hadn't known she had in her. And then she continued.

"As you have informed me many times, there are things that you just do for family. You are my family. I make my own choices, and I have no regrets."

His body warmed from head to toe and the vise around his heart eased fractionally. "You're really smart, you know that?"

"Yes," she sniffed. "I'm very smart."

"You just have to be patient with me, Bones, you know? My brain doesn't work as fast as yours. Sometimes it takes me a little longer to understand things."

"You've said that before."

"See? Where would I be without you?"

Brennan rolled her eyes, but she relaxed back onto his chest regardless and he knew all was good between them. They were quiet again, and then Brennan's voice reached out in the darkness once more.

"Booth?"

"Yeah?"

"You're quite smart as well."

"Thanks, Bones."

The minutes ticked by and they talked about everything, anything, and nothing. They discussed Brennan's new book premiere and Parker's latest science test score and the upcoming DVD release of a movie Booth loved. They discussed the out of state consult she had in two weeks time and possible vacation plans for when Parker came over in the summer. And neither of their phones rang. Brennan fell asleep first and Booth followed soon after, and life carried on.


	4. Chapter 4

I'm just going to stop predicting posting dates, 'cause all it ever does is make me a liar. To those of you who reviewed/PM'd me with both subtle and not-so-subtle update harassments, it worked, so, thanks for that. There will most likely be two chapters after this one... the ending is actually 100% written now, because I like to do things ass-backward like that, so it's definitely going to get done... just, you know, not by July 16th :P. This chapter jumps around a lot, but there's a reason for that. Hopefully you like it.

* * *

><p>Doubtless we've been through this<br>so if you want to follow me you should know  
>I was lost then and I am lost now<br>and I doubt I'll ever know which way to go

**Vaporize, **Broken Bells

"_Seeley?"_

_A small hand pokes a young boy in his sleep. _

"_Seeley."_

_Another hesitant poke, and then Jared begins to shake him and Seeley opens his eyes._

"_What?" he mutters sleepily. Jared says nothing and Seeley fights to get his disoriented brain in functioning order. When his blurry vision focuses, in the dark he can make out the face of his brother and the glassy fear captured in his eyes. "Did you have a bad dream?"_

"_I had an accident," Jared says quietly._

_Seeley's alert now. He climbs out of bed and eyes his brother, noting that he's already changed his pajamas._

_They've been living with their grandfather for a few weeks now, and he's still getting used to having someone make Jared dinner and put him to bed and help him get ready for school. This, however, hasn't happened in close to a year, and he thinks maybe it would probably be best for him to take care of it on his own. He's learned not to push his luck._

"_Where are your clothes?"_

"_On my bed," Jared says in that same quiet voice. "I didn't mean to."_

"_It's okay; I'll fix it."_

_It's the first time he uses this exact phrase with his brother, but it certainly will not be the last._

"_I'm sorry."_

_Eventually, Jared won't bother apologising. But they're far from that point._

"_Here; get in. Go back to sleep."_

_Jared climbs into Seeley's bed and Seeley fusses with the comforter, and then he creeps toward his door. His brother is asleep before he even makes it into the hallway._

_Once he reaches Jared's room he strips the sheets off the bed and piles them near the door, and then he goes to the linen closet and back. For a moment he simply stares at the mattress with his face knitted in thought; this is the hard part. It takes effort, but eventually he drags the mattress halfway off the box spring and manages to flip it over. He's a little out of breath by the time he's done, but he doesn't dwell on this and he sets about pulling the sheets into their proper place as quickly and carefully as he can manage. It's not that he's expecting his grandfather to react the way his father would react (__**did **__react); this is habit for him. He's highly adaptive and he's been doing this for Jared ever since his mom could not._

_He tugs on a corner of the new comforter and it doesn't actually change the overall appearance of the bed, but it always feels as if __**one **__more touch-up is necessary. Eventually Seeley steps away from the scene. The blankets are bundled and carried to the laundry room, and he winces when the top of the machine clangs against the control panel as he flips it open, but after keeping a guarded eye on the door for a minute he's confident that the sound went unheard, and he concentrates on loading the soiled sheets and clothing into the machine._

_He knows better than to turn it on at this hour. Washing machines are noisy and that is the kind of mistake he had only needed to make once. Instead he'll wait for morning when the sound of the machine will blend in with the sounds of a high-traffic street, and his grandfather will be none the wiser. _

_With his mission accomplished, Seeley tip-toes back down the hallway toward his bedroom, and he jumps ten feet in the air when the door to his grandfather's room opens._

_Hank squints into the darkness. "What are you doing out of bed, Seel?"_

"_Nothing. I was just- nothing."_

_The denial is quick and automatic. He's learned to speak strategically to other people, but there's this panic that settles in his chest when he's cornered by his father (and now, his grandfather) that freezes his brain. He's still trying to think of something to say when Hank steps fully into the hall and crouches in front of him._

"_What's the matter?"_

_He's still young, and his poker face isn't perfect. It's close, but Hank is a solider just like Seeley will be one day, and he's astute enough to catch the furtive glance down the hall._

"_I was thirsty."_

_It's good but again it's not perfect._

_Hank nods his head and ushers Seeley forward, and he lets it go. Because Seeley is capable of locking himself tighter than a safe and Hank has learned that when that glint of determination appears in his eyes, it is damn near impossible to move him. When they enter the bedroom and Hank sees Jared occupying Seeley's bed, he knows without doubt that he has made the right decision. He will never know what drove Seeley into the hall, and Jared will never want for a greater protector._

_Seeley's struggling to maintain consciousness and Hank busies himself with pulling back the comforter and shifting Jared out of the centre of the bed. He's learning new things about his grandkids every day, but among the things he does know, is that Seeley can't relax if he feels he's being watched. _

_Eventually, Seeley crawls into the now vacant side of the bed and blinks sleepily when his head hits the pillow._

_Hank's lips twitch upward, and he's overwhelmed by the force of his desire to protect this boy who is ever so determined to protect everyone else. "Hey, Seel?"_

_Seeley's eyes flutter open. "Hmm?"_

"_There's nothing wrong with thinking about yourself every now and then, you know? I mean, when I was your age I had my fair share of responsibilities, but..." he pauses, "...you need things for you; something bigger than your running around or those gamer video things..." _

_Seeley's little brow furrows in confusion and while he is older than his years in so many ways, at this exact moment Hank is reminded that he is still a little boy who has presently been left beyond confused by the ramblings of an old man._

"_Never mind, sport. Get some rest."_

_A few years pass and then Seeley no longer stiffens at sudden movements and Jared doesn't burst into tears when voices are loud. By the time they're in their teens, Jared feels entitled to Seeley's help without ever asking for it and Seeley's forgotten that there was once a time when his brother had held himself responsible for his own messes._

_He tries not to think too hard about the difference between 'things you do for family' and 'things you shouldn't __**have**__ to do for family'. It's another thing that doesn't change until he meets her. Long before her, Cam tries to help him see the unhealthy relationship that is him and Jared and he cuts himself off from her ever so definitively for six months. But __**she **__has always been the exception to his every rule. So when she pulls him aside and tells him that what he's doing isn't fair, it makes an impact. Even though he's still mad at her and he feels betrayed and he can't even look her in the eye and goddamn it she's supposed to be the __**one **__person who sees him, when the words come out of her mouth he can't help but acknowledge that, yes, it's time._

* * *

><p>There was no alarm to wake them in the morning and they slept late as they finally succumbed to days of emotional exhaustion. Soon after nine, however, Booth's eyes flew open and his mind and body alike snapped to instant attention. He didn't move beneath the blanket as he attempted to pinpoint the trigger to this state, but when he heard the faint rustling come again from somewhere outside her door, he made short work of getting out of bed and travelling across the room. His weapon was in his hand and he had no conscious memory of removing it from the nightstand, and it was at this point that Brennan rolled into the empty space on the mattress.<p>

"What's wrong?" she muttered almost unintelligibly.

"Someone's in your apartment," he informed her in a low, preoccupied tone. She too left the bed, but he didn't look at her until she met him at the door and reached for the knob without further ado. Booth grabbed her arm just above the elbow and pulled her backward. "Please tell me you have more sense than that when I'm not here."

Brennan rolled her eyes. "I'm capable of defending myself in my own home when I'm alone, Booth."

He shook his head and didn't bother wasting the breath it would have required to tell her to stay in the bedroom. At least if she was right behind him, he couldn't be distracted wondering whether she was following instructions (for once in her life) or plotting an aggressive attack that would swiftly get one – or both – of them injured.

Booth silently eased the door open and stepped into the hall, and Brennan followed close behind him. She never moved as quietly as she thought she did; not to his ears, anyway. Apparently not to the intruder's ears either, because the soft noises ceased before they made it out of the hall. Great. If one of them got maimed on top of everything else that had happened this week, he was going to just quit looking for _any _bright side. This was getting ridiculous.

Booth quickly turned the sharp corner into the open kitchen, and then just as quickly he lowered his gun. Inside, Max finished measuring out the coffee and began the brewing process on Brennan's fancy machine.

"Morning, kids."

"Dad," Brennan pushed past Booth with a great deal of exasperation. "I have a doorbell."

"One of these times, Max, you're actually going to get shot. And you're going to have nobody to blame for it but yourself."

Max shrugged. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, I suppose. Honey, you should really buy better locks for your front door; anybody could just walk in."

Brennan's mouth opened in offense. "My lock is beyond adequate. You are the only one who 'just walks in' here."

Under ordinary circumstances Booth would have found it exceedingly uncomfortable to be caught in this conversation with Brennan's father while only half dressed, but he was tired and the quick rise and fall in adrenaline had left him irritated, and he couldn't find it in himself to care.

Max scrutinised their faces. "You two are exceptionally testy this morning."

Booth sighed. "It's nine twenty on a Saturday. Forgive my lack of cheer."

"See? There's that testy vibe again. Is Tempe not putting out enough for you, Booth? I could speak to her if you want."

"What? I put out plenty!" Brennan protested indignantly.

Her answer was a near-reflexive response to a perceived challenge (besides, she _knew _that one) and the look on Booth's face combined with the gloating in Max's made her wish she could take it back, but the damage was done.

Booth, for his part, did his best to appear impassive. "Nope. I am not getting sucked into this. I'm going back to bed. Max; pleasure as always."

True to his word, Booth turned on his heel and disappeared around the corner. Brennan watched him go and faced her father once again after they heard the bedroom door click shut.

"You did that on purpose," she stated. She walked over to the mostly-full coffee pot and turned off the machine. "Why do you antagonise him?"

"I can't help it, Tempe; he's an easy mark," Max responded with an infuriating grin.

Brennan pulled mugs down from the cupboard and set them on the counter along with the milk and sugar. "Why are you here?"

Max's expression turned wistful for a brief moment; the way it often did when he was reminded that some hurts went too deep and his daughter would always, in all likelihood, question his motives. He had missed key years of her life, and he would never see more than glimpses of the parts of herself she was willing to lay bare to the FBI agent in the other room. But he couldn't do anything but move forward and maybe meddle in her life just often enough for her to form new memories of him that didn't hurt as much as the ones from her childhood. So he smiled.

"Just wanted to check in and see how you were doing."

He casually accepted the mug offered to him and sat down by the island while she leaned against the sink. Brennan cradled her mug thoughtfully in her hands and since she didn't seem too eager to speak, he didn't either. She watched him, though, and in the silence he got the feeling that he had said or done something since his arrival to spark a very deep contemplation.

"Do you remember the week that you deprived me of all stimulation not directly related to my schoolwork?"

Max chuckled. "You mean the week your mother and I grounded you? Yeah, honey, I remember that."

"I was very upset with you. And mom," she stated factually. "You took away my books."

She studied his features and it was clear that she expected something from him, but as happened so often, her own features were carefully guarded and Max couldn't do anything but guess at what had prompted her thought. There were some things about her that hadn't changed since she was a child; his daughter formed unique connections between thoughts and she was quick to shut down when he didn't catch on to them quickly. She was easily frustrated by any perceived inability to effectively communicate.

"Taking away the TV would have hardly been punishment for you, Tempe," he stalled.

"When Russ and I came home from school the first day, I looked everywhere for them. I suspect that your secret criminal lives made you both excellent at hiding things."

If she was outlining childhood traumas, she certainly had worse to choose from than a week without her books. He was still hopelessly lost.

"Temperance, you and your brother were out of control; you set the kitchen on fire."

"_Russ _set it on fire," Brennan corrected strenuously. "I told him it would happen and he made me help him."

"No one could make you do anything you didn't want to do, Tempe," Max said. "Not then, not ever."

There were many things she hadn't wanted to do during the dark years of her teenage life that she had been forced to do regardless, and Brennan sobered slightly at the inaccuracy of her father's statement. Because the child she had been then was very different from the child she had become during the years she spent in foster care. He had stepped over that line that separated the parts of her life he could and couldn't comment on with any kind of certainty.

They were in an awkward place for what felt like forever to Max, and then Brennan visibly shook off the unwelcome emotions and sipped her coffee. "That's the worst memory I have. Prior to you leaving, of course."

"Look, honey, I'm not going to apologise for punishing you twenty something years ago when you deserved it."

"I would like to say thank you."

"Thank you?" Max gave her a confused smile.

Brennan nodded and hesitantly maintained eye contact. "Though the sting of betrayal brought on by your abandonment still causes me occasional distress, I can acknowledge that you were a good father to me for the first fifteen years of my life. In the past few days it has donned on me that not everyone was as... lucky, as I was in that respect. I loved you. And you loved me. And we were very happy for a considerable amount of time."

The wistfulness returned as he thought of everything his family had been, once, and what remained of it now. "We were pretty happy, weren't we?"

Brennan simply nodded and sipped absently at her coffee.

"And you're happy now, Tempe?"

A slow smile came over her face, and her gaze dropped to the countertop as her cheeks flushed the lightest of pinks. "Yes. I am quite happy."

It was his turn to nod, and then Max cleared his throat. "Does this soul bearing of yours have anything to do with Booth's dad showing up?"

Her wall went up. By the time she spoke, Brennan's face was blank and she was stiff as a board. "How did you know that?"

Max was a man who had demonstrated on more than one occasion exactly how far he was willing to go to protect his children. Especially his daughter. It had nothing to do with favouritism and everything to do with the fact that he couldn't look in her eyes without seeing the six year old version of her who had adored him. There was something redemptive about her face; it made him wish he could be a better person for her. It made him want more than anything in the world to protect her. He had watched Booth stare into those clear blue orbs in the past and he knew that he was not the only person who saw it.

He had touched base with some old 'friends' and questioned the sudden reappearance of the father Booth never spoke of. He probably knew more about the man than Booth did himself; Max Keenan didn't trust others easily, and he trusted others with his offspring even less. Booth had proven himself a good man, but that was not a reflection of a model upbringing. He would do what was necessary, always, but for now Max was satisfied with simple reconnaissance work and determining just how much of a threat Booth Sr. planned to pose to his daughter and the FBI agent she loved wholeheartedly.

"I hear things. I see things too. He's bad news, Tempe."

"So when you told me that you were here simply to see me, when you broke into my house, you were already planning to speak to me about this."

"Tempe-

"I don't want to talk about this," Brennan interrupted. "Booth wouldn't like it."

Max raised his hands in surrender. "Fine. The two of you watch yourselves though, alright? I've grown kind of used to Special Agent Booth. I'd hate to see him get manipulated into doing something stupid."

"You don't know Booth like I do," Brennan answered ardently.

In the ensuing silence Brennan heard the shower begin to run in her bathroom; Booth had evidently given up on sleep quickly. He had been clinging to the idea of a quiet weekend for days, and she could hardly bear the thought of today beginning in such a disheartening fashion. He deserved at least one morning without someone – least of all Max – trying to force his thoughts in a direction he had no desire to go.

"Please don't say anything to Booth about his father," she said quietly.

"Not a word," Max promised. "Not a word."

Brennan relaxed and settled on another barstool, and the running water continued to fill the silence between them until Max drained his mug and set it down.

"Can I talk you into going out for breakfast?"

"Why?" Brennan asked suspiciously.

"Just to spend time with you." Brennan lifted an eyebrow and Max sighed. "Because I'm a selfish old man and I want to make sure you're not still mad. Come on, Temperance; I'm sorry."

The water stopped; after a beat, Brennan nodded her head and accepted the olive branch. "I'll go tell Booth to hurry."

She followed the familiar route back to her bedroom and left Max alone in the kitchen to contemplate the variety of damages parents caused their children. It was for the better that he didn't believe in an afterlife; there were no places for men like the ones who had fathered Temperance and Booth in the good kind.

* * *

><p>"<em>One of you better tell me what the hell's going on."<em>

_Seeley's grandfather is about as close to yelling as one can get without actually yelling. He's sitting on the couch next to Jared and Pops is pacing in front of them, and he chances a glance at his brother for the first time since they had come through the front door and been unceremoniously told to park their asses. Evidently, not enough time has passed for this to be an acceptable move, because the reprimand is instant._

"_Don't look at him. I'm talking to you, Seeley. Eyes here."_

_He hears Jared choke back a laugh and his own face gets hot with anger because this is (mostly) Jared's fault. It's only the hard stare of his grandfather that keeps him from doing a half turn and sucker-punching his brother._

"_We didn't start it," he mutters petulantly._

_This isn't exactly true. Jared had thrown the first punch and he had jumped in soon after, but while he's angry with Jared for starting this mess, he hears the words in his head and he believes the beating was earned._

_**At least we've got parents.**_

_He's older than Jared and much faster, so while he's escaped with a cracked lip, Jared's eye is already beginning to swell shut and he knows his brother will be sporting an impressive shiner by this time tomorrow. Part of him finds this vindictively satisfying._

"_I'm going to ask you one more time, Seeley; what happened?"_

_He opens his mouth to protest - because his grandfather has gone from questioning both of them to targeting just him in record time - but then he feels Jared's body stiffen again with suppressed laughter and he forgets that he's been trying to contain himself, and he shoves his brother to the floor._

"_Just __**shut up**__."_

_Jared's not laughing anymore. He gets up and Seeley stands up too (because he's not about to get attacked while he's sitting on a couch), but Hank catches Jared around the middle just as he lunges forward. They've been living together for a long time now; he's become pretty good at reading the two boys._

"_Haven't you two had enough for one day?"_

_He half shoves the two of them back onto the couch and Seeley and Jared automatically shift as far from one another as they can get, making a point of staring in opposite directions. In a matter of speaking, Seeley gets his wish. Jared starts to take the situation seriously. But it comes at a price._

"_Seeley broke his nose," Jared tattles._

_Seeley's head whips around and he stares at his brother incredulously. "Because he punched you!"_

"_If you hadn't done that, they wouldn't have called Pops." _

"_Yeah but you-_

_He cuts himself off as he remembers that they are not alone and Hank is closely following this heated exchange. He folds his arms over his chest and sinks sullenly back into the cushions, and Jared soon does the same._

"_He what, Seel?"_

_He stares fixedly at the top of the coffee table. "Nothing."_

_The steely resolve settles over him and that's the last thing he says as they are lectured and sentenced. But Pops has always been relatively lenient with them when it comes to what he considers normal boy behaviour, so the real punishment occurs when he goes back to school the next day and finds out he's been suspended from the football team for the next week._

_When Jared rushes out for junior practice as usual and later tells him that he had been called into the principal's office to give a detailed account of the previous day's events, he can guess at why the school's punishment doesn't extend to Jared. And he vows without any real conviction to maybe just let his brother get his ass kicked next time._

* * *

><p>"He forgot. I'm going to call him."<p>

Booth reached for the handset docked in her living room and Brennan climbed over him to snatch it up first.

"No."

"Bones-

"_No_, it's three o'clock in the afternoon, Booth. It's hardly time to start panicking over dinner. Don't be a nag." Booth's eyebrows rose and Brennan rolled her eyes. "Angela often uses that expression when I linger too long in her office during cases. Honestly, it's offensive how utterly surprised you are _every _time I use a colloquial phrase."

"Until you can consistently differentiate between documentaries and MTV reality series, you don't get to be offended. Give me the phone."

She held it out of his reach. "If you don't hear from Jared by six, you may phone him. Until that time, leave him alone. He's an adult; he doesn't require a babysitter."

Booth let a moment pass in which he appeared to cooperate, and then he made another grab for the handset. Brennan just barely managed to hold on to it and she jumped up from the couch before he could try again.

"That was very childish."

Before he could respond to the scolding, his phone chimed from somewhere in the kitchen and Brennan smirked at him in an _I told you so_ fashion.

"It might not be him," he said. And even _he _thought he sounded childish, so he felt relieved when she let it slide.

Brennan tossed the phone in his direction and he caught it easily in one hand.

_Reservation's for 8:00._

The attachment containing the directions came through a few seconds later. Booth snorted.

"This restaurant is about as far away from your place as we can get without actually leaving DC. Do you think he's trying to tell me something?"

She walked back into the living room and sat on the coffee table in front of him. "Let's go outside."

"What? Why?" he questioned. "Where?"

"When Parker behaves the way that you're behaving now, you take him outside."

"You're comparing me to the ten year old?" Booth frowned. "Really?"

She patted his knee in a manner that was probably meant to provide reassurance, but ultimately came across as condescending. "You'll feel better. You know you will."

Booth continued to eye her sceptically, but when she offered him her hand, he allowed her to pull him up and he only put forth minimal complaint. Because the truth was, going outside did sound sort of appealing.

* * *

><p>They went for a run and it was everything he could have asked it to be. They spent their days during cases glued to each other's side, but their schedules didn't always match up in the time between and it wasn't often that they had the chance to run together. The mid-afternoon sun was bearable, the breeze was light, and Booth made a mental note to keep this timeframe in mind in the future. He was willing to change his routine every so often if it meant spending time with her.<p>

"Booth," Brennan jarred him out of his reverie. "You're doing a very poor job of keeping up with me."

Booth shook his head. He always ended up focusing a lot more on watching her run than running himself when they went out like this. But he wasn't going to risk setting her off on an anthropological lecture explaining the logistics of her attractiveness by letting her know that. Instead, he increased his tempo to cover the couple yards between them and delivered a bright smile.

"It's because you've got your headphones in, Bones. It gives you an unfair advantage."

She watched his face for any sign that he was joking, and finding none, her eyes grew clouded with confusion. "How?"

"Your music is setting your rhythm for you; rhythm's half the work. You're cheating."

Questioning her morals wasn't something she would forgive easily, but the look on her face made it worth any repercussion.

"I don't cheat!"

"S'okay, Bones. You're a girl; it's allowed," he said casually.

A subtle glance in her direction showed the knit brow and open mouth he associated with stark indignation, and so he wasn't surprised when she ripped the buds out of her ears and began to bunch them up in her hands. He _was _surprised when she made quick work of stuffing them down the front of her shirt.

"Whoa! Bones, what are you doing? You can't just go digging around in there in public!"

"What? Where else would you suggest I put them, Booth?"

"I don't know, Bones, just- God," he turned his head away from the image of Brennan with her hands deep in her cleavage and figured this was some sort of cosmic payback for messing with her head.

All their talking had put a stitch in his side, and he used the silence to concentrate on his breathing in an effort to work it out. Maybe _this _was why they didn't run together more often. Very little focus actually stayed on the exercise. When he dared to turn her way again she was intently reading something on her phone... which wouldn't have been all that alarming if he hadn't spent the last hour observing every move of her spandex-clad body without having once noticed the bulk of her cell. She met his eye and mistook his shock for plain curiosity.

"It's just Angela," she explained.

Booth found his voice. "Where the hell were you keeping _that_?"

"Would you like me to show you?" Brennan responded cheekily.

Damn it.

He ran a little faster and she matched his stride with a grin.

"This is fun," she said conversationally.

"For you," he muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing."

* * *

><p>It was Booth (naturally) who decided that the ideal way to end a perfectly healthy run was by indulging in perfectly unhealthy ice cream. Brennan kept watching him out of the corner of her eye and he kept pretending not to notice, and in the end she gave in with only minimal protest because she was far too relieved to see him acting like himself to do anything else. The walk from the tiny shop back to the apartment was short, so they ambled about the perimeter of a nearby park to prolong their excursion.<p>

"Let me have some of yours," Brennan asked for what felt like the third time in as many seconds.

Booth pulled his cone protectively toward himself. "If you wanted chocolate, you should have got chocolate, Bones. This is what happens when you order hippie flavours."

"Green tea is _not _a hippie flavour. It's quite palatable. You can have some of mine if you let me have some of yours."

"I don't _want _any of yours."

"Just try it."

She shoved her cone far too close to his face and Booth sighed before leaning forward and nipping the tip of the cold peak.

"Happy?" he quipped as he swallowed and took a large mouthful of his own cone.

"Yes," Brennan confirmed, for what Booth didn't know to be the second time today. "I'm happy."

She continued to watch him out of the corner of her eye and she felt _that _secret slowly burning her insides. He was content, now, but he had already seen his father once and she had no way of knowing how much time she had on her side before he saw him again. Booth would forgive her if he was blindsided by his father with the truth of that night, only to later discover that it was a truth she had known for years. He would be angry at first, but he would forgive her in time the way he always did. He would forgive her, but she wasn't entirely certain that she would be able to forgive herself. She had felt that sickening combination of guilt and regret before in regards to Booth and it wasn't something she ever cared to feel again; she was fairly certain that she would crumble under the weight.

_Everyone needs someone. Don't be scared._

"Booth?"

"Christ, Bones. Here, fine, take it."

He offered her the remains of his cone and she shook her head. "No, I have something that I need to tell you."

"Oh." Booth absorbed this and then eyed her warily. "What is it?"

She felt an unpleasant churning sensation deep in her belly... the psychosomatic effects of her anxiety that most people called butterflies, and there were so many thoughts and phrases racing through her mind, she couldn't settle on any one. She _was _scared. She didn't want to have to be the one to tell him when doing so felt like as much of a betrayal as _not _telling him. Too much time had passed.

Booth gave her a sad smile. "That bad, huh?"

She nodded morosely and tried to swallow past the lump that his tender tone brought into her throat.

"How 'bout we sit down then, okay?"

By the time that they had settled onto the soft grass beneath a large oak tree, Brennan had regrouped and sternly reminded herself that Booth was not supposed to be the one doing the comforting right now.

"When Hank was staying with you, shortly after you first introduced us, he told me something about your father. About the day that your father left you and Jared."

"Pops did?" Booth frowned. "Why?"

"Secrets are a burden, Booth. I think he wanted to relieve his conscience."

"So he told you."

"Yes."

And you were supposed to tell me."

"Yes."

"But you haven't."

"I'm telling you now."

Booth nodded slowly. They could discuss both her reasoning and his grandfather's until nightfall, but they had other unpleasant issues to tackle before day's end; he would much rather rip off the Band-Aid now and leave time for the sting to fade before heading across the city for dinner.

"So what'd he say?"

To her credit, she didn't hesitate. She understood the Band-Aid approach.

"Hank is the one that told him to go. He saw your father hitting you and he made him leave."

_He remembers the uncertainty before he remembers faces or landmarks or the taste of blood in his mouth. The uncertainty carries greater weight than fear or pain because he can anticipate fear and pain and he can control them (control is so, __**so **__important to him) but when his grandfather arrives unexpectedly he can no longer accurately map out the evening and this unsettles him more than the beating. He prefers to know the steps._

_So the anxiousness is first, and then it's the cool of the window in the fallen temperatures of night and the coarse fabric of the curtain in a hand that's small and smooth. They're in his parents' bedroom (his __**father's**__ bedroom. His mother is gone gone gone), and he's turned on a lamp because Jared is afraid of the dark and the sound of his brother crying is riskier than the light he knows can be seen from the street at this hour._

_He can't interpret the exact words but he's already an expert on body language and for a moment he truly believes his grandfather is going to strike his father down. There's a forceful shove instead and the argument continues._

_More yelling, more pushing, and then the two words that find their way through the glass._

_**Get out.**_

Booth cleared his throat and absently plucked blades of grass free from the earth. "Yeah, Bones. I know."

"You do?" her nose crinkled and soon her perplexity gave way to an odd cross between anger, annoyance and relief. So much for her internal struggle. "For how long?"

The familiarity of her scandalized tone drew a smile. "I watched the whole thing from my parents' bedroom window. There are... gaps, I guess. And things I remember that don't make sense when I think about them as an adult, you know? Like, my memory's wrong. But most of it's there."

Brennan unfolded her legs and stretched them out in front of her, then leaned back on her palms. "He told me that I would know when the time was right to tell you."

"Makes sense," Booth shrugged.

Her forehead again creased in confusion. "Why?"

"Because you know me best, Bones. Pops saw that right away. You know when I'm cranky because I haven't eaten or because I miss Parker and you know when to make jokes and when to just leave me alone for a few hours... only you. It's a powerful feeling."

"Your faith in me is absurd," Brennan laughed softly. "Nevertheless, I find a certain degree of possessive pleasure in it."

Booth gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes. "You are such an alpha-female."

* * *

><p>When they arrived at the restaurant they found Jared seated at the bar, alone, and Booth clenched his teeth. They could have done this <em>exact <em>same thing at the Founding Fathers. A million miles closer to home. And where the hell was Padme?

Jared looked up just then and raised his glass of ice water in acknowledgment.

"I thought you said Padme was coming," Brennan whispered as they weaved through the tables toward the bar.

"Jared said she was," Booth whispered back defensively, "You know everything I do, Bones."

"This creates an imbalance; I could wait in the car."

"Bones, it's already getting chilly out; I'm not going to ask you to wait in the car."

"But-

"Don't be ridiculous; come on."

He took her hand and her fingers immediately closed around his, even though her face still displayed her reluctance. But they reached Jared and she smiled, because whether or not she realised it she _was _capable of gracefully handling these kinds of social situations. Anyone who had ever watched her work a room full of donors at any of the Jeffersonian fundraisers could attest to this.

"Temperance; always nice to see you." Jared winked at her and then he turned to Booth. "Not a couple's night out, huh Seeley?" he repeated pointedly.

Booth returned the not-so-subtle dig with a tight smile and a not-so-subtle dig of his own. "Speaking of couples; where's Padme?"

"We had a bit of a thing... she stayed home. I want to get back and smooth things over as soon as I can, so I gave up our table," Jared explained, motioning the bartender over to tend to the new arrivals. "I figured we could just chat quick here, if it's all good with you."

"Yeah, sure."

He was more relieved than he let on. Dinner meant long menu perusals and wine debates and being interrupted by a server every thirty seconds, and that was exactly what he had been dreading this afternoon. He didn't want to pretend that they were an ordinary family out for an ordinary dining experience when they were anything but ordinary. Pretending took Herculean effort during the especially rocky times.

Jared must have expected more protest because his eyebrows rose slightly, but he simply nodded.

"What's so important?"

"Dad's in DC."

Jared stared at Booth, waiting for a punch line, and his features hardened quickly once he realised that none was coming.

"_Why_?"

That was the million dollar question. Booth had already asked it himself a hundred times because there wasn't a single part of him that believed a newspaper clipping had been enough to cause a bitter old man to regret a lifetime of wrongdoings. He wasn't sure he was ready for the answer. If this had been anyone else he would have already conducted thorough background searches, but those quite often required interactions with other agents and his search histories weren't private, and keeping this situation locked down was more important to him than figuring out the why.

"I don't know." Booth reached into his pocket and pulled out the crumpled hotel business card. Jared's eyes followed it as he tossed it carelessly onto the counter. "He was waiting for me at work yesterday... he said he'd be around until Thursday if we wanted to call."

Jared snorted. "Yeah, okay."

Booth gave him a lopsided smile. "That's pretty much what I said."

Jared exhaled slowly and ran a hand through his hair as the information slowly sank in. "So he just... what? Looked you up in the phonebook? Googled you? Help me out here, Seel."

"The Jeffersonian had a banquet the other day... it was in the paper. He showed up there first but Cam took care of him."

At the mention of the museum, Jared's eyes shifted to Brennan.

"Her technique was quite effective," she added.

A small smile twisted the corners of Jared's mouth, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come. "What else?"

"What else?" Booth frowned. "That's it."

"He didn't have anything else to say?"

"I didn't stick around to talk."

Jared said nothing and there was the silent understanding that he wouldn't have acted any differently.

They had been close as children, clinging to one another when they had no one else. But with age had come the overwhelming need to form an entirely separate identity – especially for Jared – and it was often difficult to remember that there had been a time when the waters between them hadn't been turbulent. They were once again bonded by a common enemy, but they had left their childhoods far behind them and with the achievement of entirely separate identities they had given up kinship and replaced it with resentment. Jared resented Booth's transcendent goodness and the inherent sense of authority he exuded – the markings of an oldest child. Booth resented Jared's ability to live his life free from fear of consequences or responsibility for anyone outside himself. They weren't close anymore. They couldn't tackle this issue together. So while there was a moment of shared commiseration, it passed quickly.

"One little mention in the paper and he's showing up at your girlfriend's work. What a prick." Jared slid his glass away and started to put on his coat, while Booth silenced Brennan with a look as she geared up to protest the 'girlfriend,' dismissal. "Guess it's working out in my favour that you were always his favourite, huh? Good luck, Seel."

Booth stared at his brother incredulously and he tried to uncover an alternative meaning to the statement. Because there was no way, no _way _even Jared could mean that the way it had sounded.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Jared tossed a few bills on the counter as he stood nonchalantly. "Nothing. I'm just saying, you're not going to catch me complaining about the fact that his attention's on you... the way it always was."

Booth thought of the trips he had made to the ER – and the trips that he hadn't, once his mother was gone. Yes, the attention had been on him. But Jared _had _to see that it had always been for his benefit.

"Oh, you mean like when he gave you the money for that class trip you wanted to go on so bad, and we had to live off cereal the next two weeks?"

The words flew out of his mouth and his mind flashed to a Sunday afternoon years ago spent watching Beauty and the Beast with Parker.

_You must control your temper!_

Arguing with Jared never changed anything, but this pissed Booth off past the point where that mattered. They both had a handful of good memories. If he had to acknowledge the bitter burden of the small doses of good, then so did Jared. Somewhere, he registered the plea in Brennan's voice as she called his name softly and pressed her hand against his thigh, but it was suddenly very important that he get the last word in. For once.

"I was five."

"You were six. And it still counts."

"Why do you even care?"

"I _don't_. Just don't try to make it sound like you were somehow deprived more than I was, alright?"

"Remember when you got that bike and I didn't?"

"Remember when I got my arm yanked out of its socket and you didn't?" he snapped back.

They both went silent. They never brought up specifics. Never. It was an unspoken rule and before this moment neither one of them had ever violated it.

Jared's eyes turned to stone. "We gonna compare scars here, Seeley? Is that what you want?"

"No," Booth answered resignedly.

"You're not the only one who's got them."

"I know that."

Brennan had been trying her best to remain unobtrusive, but the fact that their father could cause them to turn on one another so easily made her hate him all the more.

"He's not worth it," she interrupted. "Stop."

Jared shifted his gaze coolly her way and smirked. "Since when are you a peacemaker, Tempe?"

He didn't call her by that name anymore. He hadn't for years. She could recognise mind games; Jared was using her as a pawn in his fight against Booth and she felt herself begin to flush with the intentional allusion to their former intimacy.

"Watch it," Booth warned.

But Jared was just getting started. He ignored Booth and looked Brennan up and down before addressing her again. "Is my brother rubbing off on you? You trying to solve things with words now instead of oh, say, pushing people off chairs?"

"Shut _up_," she hissed.

Jared focused back on Booth and gave him his most charming smile as he pushed in the barstool and took a step toward the exit. "I hope things work out for the two of you, Seel. I really do... I mean, she can do things with that tongue that could make a guy-

Brennan couldn't quite process the speed in which Booth jumped up from his seat at the bar and delivered a stunning blow to the left side of his brother's face, but she had plenty of time to process Jared's crumple onto the sticky floor.

"Don't be a jackass," Booth commanded tersely as Jared rubbed his jaw, eyes blazing.

She felt the familiar bubbling rage that always stirred when she thought about that kiss. She had no one to blame for it but herself – no matter how much she would like to blame Jared – and she could never look at his face without wishing she had been smart enough to see everything about Booth's younger brother that had become so clear, so soon afterward. Booth was exceptional, and she hadn't been able to fathom anyone related to him being any less exceptional. And she paid the price anew for her mistake every time Jared got angry. Because he had Booth charm, but he also had vindictiveness in spades and he would be sure she never forgot that at the time, she had wanted that kiss and more.

Brennan glared at him and he glared back, and then she kicked him accidentally-on-purpose as she headed out after Booth.

* * *

><p>It had been years since he had smoked a cigarette, but to this day, every once in a while his fingers twitched and the immediate calming throughout his whole body that came with that first deep inhale, it was so close he could all but feel it. But he didn't smoke anymore, and he had enough other bad habits to choose from, so Booth pushed the craving aside and fingered the poker chip in his pocket instead.<p>

Nothing made him feel fifteen again like a fight with Jared. It was unreal. He was way too old to be exchanging punches with his brother, but life would be easier if Jared wasn't forever striking below the belt. It had been two years and he _still _had to bring up dating Bones... if that little stint could even be counted as dating. No one had to be that much of a prick all the time, and he couldn't even blame it on the alcohol this round. Apparently, sober-Jared was capable of being every bit the douche that was drunk-Jared.

A door opened and closed behind him and he knew that it was her before he turned around. Maybe it was the work of a sixth sense, or maybe it was simply the scent of her perfume, but in any case he knew she was close and his body relaxed, and the cigarette craving disappeared entirely.

She reached for his hand before anything else, and he couldn't help but smile as she flexed all the little bones – many of which he could name, thanks to her – with expert precision.

"I shouldn't have hit him," he stated simply.

Brennan shrugged. "I'm quite certain I would have if you hadn't done it first."

"With my luck, someone's probably called the cops already," he laughed bitterly.

She shrugged again. "At least we've never eaten here before; it's unlikely anyone will see us again. It would have been much worse had we gone to the diner."

He couldn't argue that logic. He felt fine but he knew that she would never accept his word for it, so he stood patiently as she conducted her thorough examination and he managed to look grateful once she gave him back his hand.

"Home?" she asked eventually.

"Home," he confirmed.

They didn't talk much on their way back to the car, but the distance between them was slight and Booth brushed his knuckles uncertainly against hers a half second before he slipped their hands together ever so lightly. Brennan didn't look at him or change her stride, but she gripped his hand. The issue was yet another dead horse between them and discussing it would change nothing, so she let the simple touch speak for her and she swung their hands gently back and forth. Jared may have kissed her and she may have kissed him back, but she would have never allowed this. Booth was the exception to just about every one of her rules too.


	5. Chapter 5

So it's been a while. I'm hoping you haven't all completely forgotten what's going on in this fic, but if you have, there are only four previous chapters and all things considered, it really could be worse. Right? Right? All jokes aside, I hope this doesn't let you down... I feel like the longer the wait between chapters, the better it's expected to be, and, well, it's been two months, lol. That's a lot of pressure. I know I said two more chapters total, but I had to split this chapter in half, due to the rather obnoxious length. You'll find that this part is more build up for the next part than anything else, but I'll try to be prompt in posting the next one, so try to be patient with me (again). And then, of course, the final chapter will follow.

* * *

><p>You could see me breathing<br>But you still kept your hand over my mouth  
>You could feel me seething<br>But you just turned your nose up in the air

You only think about yourself  
>You only think about yourself<p>

**Mexico, **Incubus

_Christine Brennan is vigilant when it comes to keeping her cover. She is an accountant. She is from Topeka, Kansas. (they go with a city. She's always from a city. Her husband says there's an air about her that shouts city bred and she can't pull off small town) She has two children._

_The last fact is a constant – one of few – and she is __**so **__good at maintaining the facade that is their life __**because **__of those two children. Her love for them is another constant; the names and the background stories are never as important as that._

_But there is one place where she cannot see her husband as anyone but who he has been to her from the beginning. She tries to wait until he's asleep; over the years the word has slipped from her mouth once or twice a season, and it always darkens his mood. The whisper had fallen once during sex and they had bickered so hard about it they had lost all desire to even look at one another, though she had ached from the lack of satisfaction. So she tries especially hard, now, not to put him in that state. Not to give him one more concern atop the lengthy list of worries accumulated between their normal and not-so-normal lives. _

_And this is where they are now. Together, freshly showered, clothed in soft flannel, and on the verge of sleep. And Christine Brennan allows herself to be Ruth Keenan for twenty glorious seconds. She goes back. She's a bit of a wild card and she's married to a bit of a bad boy, and they've made a few mistakes but they're starting a family and they're going to start being more careful, really. And she spoons herself against her husband, and she whispers in his ear._

"_I love you, Max."_

_His eyes flick open sharply and the lethargic air between them dies out. The state of relaxation is a memory, like the lingering acrid smoke of an extinguished candle reminding one that there had recently been a flame. "__**Matt**__. Matthew Brennan. Damn it, Christine."_

_This is usually the part when she mutters an insincere apology just to keep them from having this same argument for the thousandth time. Their record is an hour and a half; she timed it once. She's rarely in the mood to start that again, but today, she is. Maybe it's because her daughter had given her a homemade card and addressed it "Dear Mommy (Christine)" and something inside of her had pulled a little. Maybe it's because her son has a new classmate from her college town and she feels nostalgic. Mainly, though, it's probably because she loves her husband so much it hurts and he's a good man, even though he's a hard man._

_So she doesn't mutter an apology._

"_Who's going to hear me?" she challenges. "The kids are asleep, it's nearly two am, I'm __**whispering**__..."_

_And Max, __**her **__Max, who is no more Matthew in these moments than she is Christine, responds exactly the way she had known he would. _

"_This is how mistakes happen. The first couple times, it's here. Then, it's in front of that cop from 227 at a block party."_

"_I have never __**once **__come close to compromising our cover," she says, and her eyes are ice cold. Her children, as mentioned, mean everything to her and she doesn't take kindly to anyone challenging this. Even him._

"_I'm not talking about this with you, Christine. Good night."_

_She's still fighting to be Ruth for a few seconds more and she thinks of something new. (something that's honestly a little underhanded, but she needs this right now and neither of them always plays fair) She hooks her thigh over his hip and hugs his back close against her chest, and she breathes over the soft skin covering his shoulders._

"_Ruth loves Max. She should get to tell him from time to time."_

"_Ruth's a fool," Max replies gruffly._

_She smiles because she can hear care in his words when nobody else does, and she's confident that she's already at least half-won him over._

"_She's not. She spends ninety eight percent of her day pretending and it's nice for her to remember who she is. It's important to remember."_

"_Can we drop the third person speak? It's giving me a migraine."_

"_Don't try to tell me you don't feel anything when I say your name," she kisses his shoulder. "Don't try to pretend your heart doesn't know the difference."_

_They're both tenacious. Set in their ways. But once in a while, they give. For each other, they give, because they're really all they have left in the world._

"_I love you too."_

"_Say it," she insists. "Say my name."_

"_I love you, Ruth."_

_She's never particularly liked her name, but it had been hers and she had built a life with it, and it's __**not **__always but when he says it, when he validates those twenty seconds she allows herself, it feels glorious. She places another satisfied kiss on the back of his shoulder and relaxes into her pillow._

_She's feeling daring tonight and she's thinking about trying for another twenty seconds, but there's soft noise in the hallway outside their bedroom and the doorknob begins to turn. Max gives her a pointed look to remind her that they are subject to interruption regardless of the time and this is why they're supposed to be __**careful**__, and she rolls her eyes and waits._

_It's Tempe. It usually is these days. Russ is twelve now and he's pretty much outgrown stumbling into their bedroom at all hours of the night. Her little girl may be brilliant, but she's still a little girl._

_Temperance stomps into the room as if it's two o'clock in the afternoon and not in the morning. "Russ says the zombies in Dawn of the Dead are real," she begins without preamble. "I think he's lying but I would feel better if you explained why they don't exist."_

_Christine (she's Christine again; definitely) is horrified. "What were you doing watching that movie? __**When**__?"_

_Temperance shrugs and worms her way in between her parents. "After school. It was on TV."_

"_You're far too young to be watching those movies, Temperance."_

_And then the little girl brings out her favourite line. "But __**Russ **__was watching it."_

_Before Christine can reprimand her, Max begins to laugh. And then she doesn't bother. Max is forever indulging their daughter's every whim and he finds her actions funny even when as a parent he probably shouldn't._

"_There are no zombies, Tempe. At this point it's a scientific impossibility," he assures her._

_Temperance accepts this and snuggles deeper into the blankets, and Christine's fingers automatically thread through her soft hair. Max's hand finds Christine's hip and they make eye contact over their daughter's head. He smiles. She smiles. And in between them, Temperance Brennan sleeps._

* * *

><p>The rest of the weekend passed without major event. Brennan went to the lab late Sunday night to supervise the unloading of a new set of remains – something she did less and less often, now, but she required some semblance of routine amidst chaos and occasionally, it just felt necessary – and returned in the early hours of Monday morning. Booth hadn't fallen asleep easily in the first place, and at four twenty, he gave up the pretense of rest and slipped smoothly from beneath the blankets. He kept an eye on Brennan as he dressed and retrieved his cell phone and wallet from atop the bureau, but she didn't stir until he found himself rifling through the nightstand beside her for a notepad and pen. She shifted and he glanced up guiltily, but she didn't wake, and he slid the drawer shut.<p>

By the time Booth had scribbled her a note, driven to the Hoover building and booted up his computer, it was nearly five am, and he felt more alert than he had an hour ago. He logged on and opened the appropriate programs, and he allowed himself only a moment of hesitation before he slowly keyed in his search.

Name. Date of birth. Last known residence. The core details of his father's life keyed into tiny little search boxes.

His typing skills were somewhat lacking compared to those of his genius partner and the plethora of squints that came with her, and he smiled as he thought of her propensity for impatiently pushing him out of the way in order to assert control of the keyboard, but then the computer began to flash results and his brow furrowed in concentration. It took quite a bit of time to weed out the hits that had nothing to do with his father, but once he had whittled things down he printed off what he could and skimmed what remained on his screen, and then Booth gathered notepads and highlighters and got to work.

It was difficult to remain impartial while piecing together the life of the tyrannical father he hadn't seen in decades prior to last week, but the notes helped. Having an end goal helped. He could pretend it was just a name and that the story on the pages had nothing to do with his own – because this was the truth, for the most part – and he carried on. Nothing he read could change his world so badly that he wouldn't recover.

His desk was covered in sheets of paper and there was handwriting haphazardly scrawled on probably half of them, and when he knocked a pile to the floor – for the second time – and was forced to crouch down and pick it all up – for the second time – Booth trudged over to one of the empty conference rooms and dragged a whiteboard back to his office. He was intently creating a timeline with a bright green dry erase marker when he heard the elevator doors part, and a few seconds later, Brennan breezed through his open door.

"Hey." He was a little surprised, but by no means unhappy to see her.

"Hi." She held up her arms to showcase the tray of coffees in one hand and the small paper bags in the other, and then she frowned as she remembered something she believed to be far more imperative than coffee. "I would like an official access card. I've been your partner for years; I find it insulting that I'm forced to waste valuable minutes of my time at the security desk whenever I have cause to step into the building."

"I'll get right on that, Bones."

"I don't think that you're being sincere."

"Maybe it's because you don't need an access card."

"I got _you _an access card and you were barely my partner then. And that- that _man _at the desk almost called you because it is apparently suspicious for someone who doesn't work here to enter the building at eight o'clock in the morning. He wanted _verification_," she practically spat the word. "I have been coming in and out of this building for longer than he has even been working in it!"

"You told him that?"

"Of course."

"Bones, I thought you were working on not talking to people like they're idiots."

"They _are _idiots," she muttered. "And if you're really that concerned, it should serve as yet another reason to _give me my own access card_."

Booth put down the marker and took a cup from her hands, then grimaced at its taste and switched with her. "You don't need one. The forensics platform has all those sirens; there's nowhere you need to be in this building that you can't access with just me and your visitor's pass."

Brennan sat in the chair before his desk. "This isn't fair."

"Let it go, okay?"

"You never use yours _anyway_. Do you even know where it is right now, Booth?" He made the mistake of looking slightly guilty, and Brennan pounced. "You've lost it, haven't you? Do you realise the security risks-

"It's at home," he assured her quickly. The suspicion in her expression remained and Booth smiled. "I promise, Bones. It's in my top drawer. You can check if you want."

"What time did you leave this morning?"

Booth didn't miss a beat. There had been a time when the abrupt change of subject would have thrown him, but he had come to learn that while her brain worked ten times as quickly as his did, every once in a while these shifts were calculated.

"A couple hours ago," he answered vaguely.

"You look very tired."

He conceded to this. "I couldn't sleep."

"Jared?" Brennan questioned. She then congratulated herself on voicing the name without too much obvious disdain. He wasn't _her _family. She wasn't obligated to forgive him.

"In part," he shrugged. "He's my brother... eventually he'll get over being punched in the face and I'll get over, well..." a vague hand gesture took the place of the grievances Brennan wasn't certain he would ever truly 'get over'. "It's not the first time. For either of us. I've been trying not to think about why the hell my dad would come here, you know? But Jared questioned it too. So I thought my mind might calm down a little if I tried to figure things out."

Brennan's brow creased in concern. "You're not going to get in trouble for this, are you?"

"Probably not," he shrugged again. "Maybe."

She shook her head, but she didn't verbalise any disapproval she may have been feeling. And Booth was glad. He really wasn't in the mood to be lectured.

"Parker's class is putting on an art show tonight," he said casually.

"Yes, I remember."

His fight with Jared had contributed to his insomnia, that was true, but Parker had been a pretty big factor as well. The time he spent with his son was already limited, and Booth didn't want to feel distracted during an evening with him, but he couldn't _relax_. His father had shown up at his partner's workplace and his own, and Booth couldn't think about him being around Parker anymore than he could think about him being around Brennan without that anger creeping back in. And so here he was. Because if Joseph got it into his head to show up out of the blue again, Booth wouldn't stand for any surprises. The thought of his father potentially knowing more about his life than he did about his father's was unacceptable.

"I'm a little concerned. Or maybe it's paranoia at this point. Hell if I know."

"You're a good father."

When she said things like this, he could almost believe them. But there was work to do, so the moment passed quickly and he settled into his chair across from her.

"He's got a couple assault charges on his record, a lot of drunk and disorderly misdemeanours..." Booth laughed humourlessly. "I was thinking about contacting his parole officer but I don't think there's any point. I've got just about everything here; he couldn't tell me anything I haven't figured out for myself."

"You sound disappointed."

Booth sighed. "He's just a guy, Bones. To anyone reading these," he tossed a stack of papers on the desk, "he's a joke. Just a guy who drinks too much and can't seem to keep out of trouble. Like half the losers in America."

"You're nothing like him," Brennan said quickly. "You're not a loser."

There had been one time when she had let him leave their conversation without firmly stating this, and she wouldn't ever let it happen again. Without even realising it, she had slammed her cup on his desk and leaned forward aggressively; when Booth began moving papers out of the way, she flushed and snatched up some of the napkins, dabbing furiously at the wet patches of coffee that had sloshed out of the lid.

"Has Parker ever asked about your father before?" She subject changed quickly.

The memory of those awkward conversations provoked another dark laugh from Booth. In all honesty, he'd rather talk to Parker about sex. But one of the benefits to having a child with no memory of a whole, traditional family, was that Parker could adjust to pretty much anything. The nuclear family meant nothing to him. So he really didn't question why other kids had two sets of grandparents while he only had one. Other kids didn't have entire museums to use as a personal playground, and Parker was pretty partial to that particular perk.

"Yeah, sure. He's a kid, you know? He notices everything. I just told him the same thing I used to tell you."

"What?"

"That there are different kinds of family." He still couldn't be certain that he had provided his son with the right answer, but parenting was about seventy percent making it up as you go, so he tried not to think about it too hard. "I told him Pops and Jared were my family. And by the next time he asked, you were too."

They shared a smile, and then she cleared her throat. "And it doesn't bother him?"

"Not a lot of things bother that kid," Booth said. "Not yet, anyway. I'm sure it'll come."

Brennan wondered – not for the first time – how far she might have spiralled into teenage rebellion had her family stayed a family. Every once in a while she tried to envision the slammed doors and dramatic declarations of hatred that Angela always described, but then she remembered feelings of safety and belonging and happiness, and she couldn't imagine taking those things for granted.

"Are you going to confront him? Your father, I mean."

"No." The answer was immediate and vehement. "He's gone for decades, shows up and gives _me _a timeline that works for him? I don't think so. No."

"He may be violating the terms of his parole. I think you should go Federal on his ass."

Booth took a thoughtful sip of his coffee and drummed his fingers on the surface of the desk. "There's a lot of our life that isn't private as it is. The cases we work, the reputations our departments have... we'll have to keep working here long after he's gone. I don't want anyone we work with knowing- _seeing _what a mess he is and associating that with me."

Brennan understood the discomfort that accompanied an overlap between their work and personal lives, and she nodded. But Booth saw the wheels turning inside her head and sighed.

"What?"

"What?" she parroted defensively.

"You're thinking something and not saying it. Oddly enough, it's usually worse when you do that than when you let just about any thought you have pop right out. What is it?"

"You understood what I did for Max," Brennan began carefully. Booth's eyes found hers before the sentence was completed. "You were angry, but you understood."

"Damn right I was angry." Bitterness slipped into his tone despite the years that had passed since that day. This was something that continued to leave a bad taste in his mouth. "You could have gone to jail. You could have secured yourself a spot on death row. It was a stupid thing to do."

"But you understood," Brennan pressed.

He rubbed a hand over his face and finally gave a reluctant nod of his head. "Yeah. I understood."

Brennan wrapped her hands around her cup and Booth marvelled at their delicate feminine appearance, and the surprising strength they contained.

"I understand that you don't want your father tarnishing the reputation you have worked hard to build for yourself. I understand your desire for distance and I understand that he makes you fear your strength and your true nature, but you will be very angry with yourself if something goes wrong – if he hurts himself or someone else – while he's here. You often feel responsibility and guilt for things beyond your immediate control."

"You had a meltdown when Max started working at the Jeffersonian."

"I did not!"

"You did, Bones. He was all over arguably the _most _important part of your life and you were upset. And you got over it because you love your dad and he loves you."

"You told me once that you loved your father."

"I also told you there are about a hundred different kinds of love. And some of them are a lot more like resentment."

The edginess was returning to his tone and instead of furthering the debate, Brennan simply pushed a paper bag across the desk to him and steered them toward calmer waters. "Here. You should eat something."

In spite of himself, Booth smiled. "Doesn't this usually go the other way around?"

Brennan shrugged. "I can function on very little food. You become quite grumpy. It wouldn't be fair to your coworkers."

Booth took the bag and peeked inside. "Wholegrain?" he grimaced.

"It's healthier for you. If you want white bread, you can purchase your own breakfast."

He gave her a crestfallen look more befitting a wounded animal, and Brennan rolled her eyes before surrendering the second paper bag and reclaiming the first for herself. An eager look inside revealed Booth's preferred choice, and he grinned.

"Thanks."

"I don't know why I still try," she lamented. "You're obviously determined to shorten your lifespan."

"You're the best, Bones."

* * *

><p>Despite the sombre tone of the morning, Booth's mood steadily improved as they day passed – as it was apt to do when he was close to seeing Parker. The art show was the kind of minor production witnessed by most parents countless times throughout the school year, even Brennan understood that, but the demands of their jobs meant that he missed a great deal of these productions, and any time spent with Parker was time to be treasured by Booth. So he called every other hour to remind her that they needed to leave by six. And then he called every hour. And by the time the calls were spaced out every half an hour, Brennan was fighting the urge to turn her phone off entirely.<p>

She was leaning on the guardrail nursing a mug of tea, watching the bustle in the lab below and experiencing a familiar stab of pride in her workplace, when her phone rang again. She sighed and removed the device from the front pocket of her lab coat, and her finger hovered indecisively over the call button until she was distracted by the sight of Angela climbing the steps to meet her. Brennan eagerly pounced on the excuse to ignore her partner's call.

"Hi Angela."

Angela gave her a curious half smile. "What was that all about?"

"What was what about?"

Angela nodded toward the phone that had been slipped back into its place in Brennan's pocket. "You're screening Booth's calls. I'm assuming it's Booth, anyway. It usually is."

"I'm not screening his calls," Brennan protested. If Angela hadn't appeared, she would have answered the phone. She would have. Really.

Angela delivered a pointed smirk that clearly stated she knew better. "Are you two having a fight? Should I be kicking his ass or yours?"

"Neither of our asses require kicking, thank you," Brennan responded dryly.

Angela poured coffee into a mug of her own and sat on the couch. "Well, that's good. Because I want us all to go out this Friday, and I don't want you two to be at each other's throats the whole time."

Brennan shook her head and sat in the opposite corner to her friend. "I don't think Booth is going to be in the mood to socialize, Ange. Besides, Parker will be with us this weekend."

"Then we can have dinner instead. You can bring Parker with you."

"I don't think so."

Come on, Bren; all this drama with Booth's dad... you guys need this. We'll have fun. We always have fun. At the fundraiser-"

"The _fundraiser _is where we were when this whole mess started," Brennan said. "I really don't think bringing it up would be the best way to convince Booth-

"Sweetie, you can convince Booth to do anything; trust me," Angela stated factually.

"Is this really how you talk about me when I'm not here?"

The familiar voice preceded Booth's appearance on the stairs, and Angela looked chagrined for all of two seconds before she beamed flirtatiously. "I say these things with love, Studly. Nothing but love."

Booth returned her grin with a full-fledged one of his own, but before he could speak, Brennan cut in.

"I'm not going to forget, Booth!" she said exasperatedly. "You didn't have to come all the way over here. Believe me; the cyclical phone calls are sufficient reminders."

Booth's smile grew and he leaned down to kiss her. "Hello to you too, baby."

"_Booth_!" Brennan twisted away and glanced pointedly at Angela. The protest had more to do with the public use of that particular term of endearment than it did the kiss, but she couldn't stay flustered because she was far more curious as to what had prompted this dramatic swing in his mood. Surely he couldn't be _that _excited about Parker's art show. "What is wrong with you?"

Booth bounced energetically in front of the couch and dangled his keys annoyingly close to her face. "Guess. Guess guess guess."

Brennan frowned and batted his hand away. "Stop that."

"I got my wheels back! I'm mobile, baby!" Brennan opened her mouth to protest yet again and Booth waved her off. "That was a general 'baby'. It even included Angela."

He winked in the artist's direction and Angela chuckled. "Thanks for that, Booth."

"Isn't this the best?" he asked gleefully.

Brennan smiled and spent a moment being grateful for the fact that Booth was so good at finding joy in the little things.

"I can think of a large number of events which would be significantly more exciting than this."

"None of that," Booth said dismissively. "We're going out for lunch."

"But we already had lunch."

"So we'll go for coffee. And I'm driving. And we're never getting in your sardine can again."

"Well there's no need to be insulting about it."

He grinned and kissed her excitedly, then pulled her up from the couch and yanked her in the direction of the stairs. Her lips parted indignantly as he fairly pushed her toward the first step, and she gripped the guardrail.

"Booth! Given the amount of traffic at this time of day it would most likely take longer to drive to the diner than it would to walk."

"Don't care; let's go. See ya later, Angela."

"Bye, Ange," Brennan echoed, pausing to glare at Booth as he pushed her again. "_Stop_."

"Have fun," Angela answered amusedly.

But she knew them well enough to know that she was already far from their minds. The response went unacknowledged, and she could hear them bickering right up until the glass doors closed behind them in the lab below.

At least they were having sex now. Listening to those exchanges had become more pathetic with each passing year they had spent _not _screwing.

* * *

><p>They had been tackling this latest speed bump in the way they had tackled all the bumps in the road before it; they rode out the lowest points, and embraced the lighter moments as they appeared naturally. It worked for them. Booth had his vehicle back and tonight, he would see his son. And it wasn't even his weekend. His father would still be in the city tomorrow, and he could maybe phone his brother and maybe not end up punching him, and they could maybe agree on a way to handle this development since it was refusing to handle itself. Today was a good Monday, and anything was possible.<p>

Fifteen minutes after they arrived at the diner, Brennan was about to remind Booth that they both still had work to do when his phone rang. She began gathering her belongings as he answered, hoping he would catch on and follow suit, but when she heard her name dropped into the conversation, she paid closer attention.

"What happened?" she asked curiously after he hung up.

"Parker's sitter is sick. Any chance you can skip out a little early and pick him up? I can do it, but I'd just have to bring him back to work with me and you know he'll be bored out of his skull."

Brennan tilted her head in thought. "Yes," she answered after thorough consideration. "I can do that."

"Great. I'll let Rebecca know. I'll meet you guys at your place as soon as I can and we can grab something to eat before heading back to the school."

They hadn't spent much time at Booth's apartment since Cam had phoned with the news of Joseph's arrival. The security was better at her apartment and Booth had been adamant that they remain there until the situation was resolved, one way or another.

"That seems logical."

"I'm all about what's logical, Bones."

He waggled his eyebrows and hit her with his most charming smile, and while Brennan casually rolled her eyes, she couldn't keep from smiling back. Damn him.

"We should get back."

"Right. Okay, let's go."

He threw a few bills on the table and then his hand slid to its usual spot on her lower back. Brennan leaned into the touch without conscious thought.

"You said this morning that Parker finds all of this normal; me, you and Rebecca... the maternal grandparents."

Booth glanced at her as they stepped off the curb. "Yeah, Bones, I think he does. I mean, don't get me wrong, sometimes he asks questions, and he doesn't always like the custody arrangement, but what else does he know? He rolls with it."

"I thought that my family was normal when I was young."

"They were normal. Aside from the whole 'robbing banks' thing."

"That's a significant fact to gloss over, Booth," Brennan chided. "Sometimes, when I think about the things that we did as a family and realise what my parents were keeping from us at the same time, I become very angry. Even though, rationally, I know that this serves no real purpose now."

They reached the car, and Booth stood with her on the passenger side. "It makes sense to me, Bones. More than it would to just about anyone else, probably."

"Do you think that he will one day look back on his 'normal' childhood years and feel as angry about them as we often do?"

Booth pushed his hands deep into his pockets and shrugged hunched shoulders. "God, I hope not." Brennan leaned against the passenger door, and he internally deliberated as it became clear she expected more from him. Eventually he shifted and focused back on her face. "It's more about the betrayal than what's normal, isn't it? When you think back, it's the lying and the leaving that bother you the most. Parker... that kid's got a million people who love him. And no one's going anywhere."

"That's good," Brennan stated. Booth smiled at the relief in her tone, and she flushed lightly and glanced at the ground before returning her eyes to his. "I find the thought of Parker growing up to be unhappy quite distressing."

Booth grinned and opened her door. "Of course you do, Bones. That right there is why I'm not worried."

* * *

><p>Brennan managed to find a spot to park on the street across from the school – no small feat, to be sure – and she watched the front doors intently for any sign of Booth's young son. There were children everywhere, running in front of the building and zipping through the busy parking lots and drive thru lanes, but she could pick out Parker's gait as easily as she could pick out her partner's. Parker was a part of Booth, and she knew their bones. As Parker finally exited the building and ran down the front steps, she was comforted as always by the familiarity of this.<p>

She stepped out of the car, but before she could cross the street, Parker spotted her and made a beeline for the vehicle. She smiled reflexively in response to the way his face lit up, but her heart soon jumped into her throat as he cut across the crowded street with barely a glance and narrowly missed being struck by a car leaving the lot. It was far too congested for any of the cars to proceed at much faster than a slow roll, but the stab of panic struck her just the same.

"Parker!"

"Hey Bones," he grinned unaffectedly. "Mom said I wasn't going to see you and dad until tonight."

She shook her head and opened the rear door, motioning for him to toss in his backpack. "You're old enough to know better than to run into traffic."

Parker rolled his eyes. "There was one car. And it was barely even moving. You sound like my dad."

"I don't see how that has any relevance."

"Are we going to the museum?" Parker changed the subject deftly.

Brennan closed the door and Parker walked around to the passenger side. "We're going to my apartment. Booth is meeting us there after he finishes work."

"Can we go swimming?"

"I don't think that we'll have time today. We can swim this weekend." She turned the key in the ignition. "Buckle your seatbelt."

He obediently clicked the belt into place. "Did you know that astronauts can't burp in space?"

Brennan frowned as she considered this and pulled out from the – now tight – parallel parking space. "I can't say that I've ever thought about it, but yes, that makes sense. The lack of gravity would effectively prevent liquids and gasses from separating in the stomach."

"Isn't that cool?"

"It's quite fascinating." Brennan agreed amiably. "Is this something you learned today?"

"Yeah. Did you know that tapeworms can grow up to seventy five feet long?"

Brennan smiled. "I did. Although scientists would measure them in metres, not feet."

"Your turn," Parker insisted. "Tell me something cool."

Being 'cool' was nice, even if it was just in the opinion of a ten year old boy. So Brennan chewed her lip, and then her eyes widened when a suitable fact came to mind.

"Female Black Widow spiders eat the males after mating."

Parker was suitably impressed. "Giant squids've got eyes that are fifteen inches big."

"The average person sheds approximately forty pounds of skin over the course of their lifetime."

"Gross!"

The fact exchange continued for the duration of the drive and Parker wasn't the only one to learn a few odd statistics along the way. They chatted easily back and forth, and Brennan entertained the whimsical thought – not for the first time – that if she ever had a child, she would very much like for him or her to be like Parker. There was a last minute stop made at the grocery store, and then the post office, and finally a bookstore, but Parker was patient and helpful, and to anyone watching them they looked every bit the part of an ordinary mother and son running errands.

She couldn't say with certainty what initially drew her attention to the front of her building as she drove just past it to the underground lot. But it would seem, to the outside observer, that her mind recognised pieces of Booth's bone structure, pieces of Parker's, before she really understood the significance. She had never met Booth's father, never even seen a picture of him, but she _knew _Booth's bones and she slammed on the brakes.

Parker was unceremoniously pitched forward in his seat. "Whoa!"

Brennan's arm instinctively shot out to stop his motion... which was ridiculous because that was what the seatbelt was there for. Why the hell had she just done that? She shook her head and focused.

"Are you injured?"

"No."

"That's good," she muttered. "Good."

"Why'd you stop? Did you see a squirrel?" Parker craned his neck to peer out the back window, despite the fact that the gate had closed and he could no longer see the street.

"Yes. A squirrel."

It made her feel a little guilty that he believed her so easily. She didn't like lying, but she couldn't have thought of anything to say on her own and Parker had mostly formed his own conclusion anyway. She could 'ride the wave,' as Angela would say. So she parked and grabbed Parker's backpack out from the backseat before he could even get his door open, and she hurried him toward the elevator.

"Are we late?"

"No," Brennan responded, flustered. "I just, I need to check the mail." She fumbled around with her keys, removing the general building key and the mailbox key, and then handed the ring off to Parker. "Here; I'll be there in a minute. Don't open the door for anyone but me."

"I _know_, Bones," Parker took the keys and hiked his up backpack. "Jeez. I'm not a baby."

* * *

><p><em>In that moment when she realises the priest she has seen so often during this case is her father, she experiences a sadness she hasn't felt since she had come downstairs <em>_**that **__Christmas day. She doesn't know what to do with it. And she's sorry, she's __**sorry **__as she knocks him down but it's self preservative and she just needs time to __**think**__, time to give Booth to find her (he always finds her) so that he can do something or say something to make this horrible ache in her chest tolerable. Already, she relies on him. But she hurts too much to contemplate what this means. And she feels __**stupid**__, because skeletal structures are her entire __**life**__, and she shouldn't have been fooled so completely by a little cosmetic surgery. _

"_Hair colour, plastic surgery, chin and cheek implants..." _

_The dam bursts and all the little details she has spent half her lifetime hiding away, the smells and the touches and the __**voices**__, they're suddenly vivid in her mind. Then she's handcuffed to a bench and the thoughts of __**stupid stupid stupid **__return. She couldn't recognise her father until far too late and now he's driving away with her __**brother**__ – who __**hadn't**__ been too stupid to figure it out – and she's horribly alone. Again. And then Booth is there and she knows she's distracting him as soon as she calls his name, but she's selfish and she can't help it because she needs him. In that moment, she needs him more than she has needed anything in years and she can't explain why. Not even to herself. But he looks at her instead of at her family, and something inside of her unclenches just enough for her to breathe again. As they drive away from her, for the second time, he stays. He __**stays**__. And in that moment, Booth means more to her than he will ever know. _

_She is important to Booth, and Booth is important to her, and it is proven time and time again that there is nothing they wouldn't do for each other._

* * *

><p>"I would like to know why you are suddenly so determined to reintegrate yourself into Booth's life."<p>

The words fell out without preamble while Booth's father's back was still turned to her and she had barely cleared the door. He turned toward her voice and they each received their first chance to observe one another. Brennan catalogued physical features as she waited for an answer to her question, and Joseph's curious stare turned puzzled when she made no effort to temper her open gaze.

"Temperance."

"Dr. Brennan."

"You look just like your picture."

Brennan folded her arms across her chest. "I asked you a very specific question."

Joseph continued his own appraisal and Brennan forced herself to maintain eye contact, but it was difficult for her. His eyes were Booth's in their studious form, and she felt the same unpleasant twisting she used to feel when Booth stared seemingly into her every thought before she knew him well enough to be mostly comfortable with his uncanny gift. Booth was adept at reading people and she feared the things she could accidentally give away if his father possessed similar skills. But she was Temperance Brennan and she was outwardly impenetrable when she wanted to be, so she squared her shoulders and raised her chin and demanded he be the one to look away first. Only, he didn't.

"I haven't seen my son in years. Then I just so happen to be here and find him in a paper... it's a little like fate, you know? Second chances and all that. He's obviously smarter than anyone ever gave him credit for, snatching up someone like you for a girlfriend-

"I'm not his girlfriend," Brennan interrupted automatically.

He quirked an eyebrow. "Whatever PC word you want to use for it. Things like this don't happen without a reason."

And she glimpsed a part of him she saw in Booth every day. Someone idealistic and governed by emotion that had maybe been a good person long ago. But she couldn't feel pity or sympathy because she held everyone to the same standards that she held herself, and there was nothing about the person he had once been that changed who he had become to Booth. And she hated him for it. She _hated _him.

Joseph's mistake lay in his assumption that of the two of them, she would be the one easily swayed by talk of fate and serendipity. He didn't know Booth well enough to know that fate was his department, nor _her _well enough to know that she would think even less of him for his frivolous sentiments. Letting chance and fate and _gambles _control a relationship did not earn you favour with Temperance Brennan.

She felt her skin grow hot. "I don't believe in fate," she said definitively.

"Does Seeley?"

"What Booth believes holds no bearing on what I believe."

"You call him by his last name," he said with a smile. And she found a new thing to hate. "That's... I can't quite get my head around that."

"You don't have to," Brennan replied dismissively. "I don't care."

"Seel's told you a lot about me."

It was a statement, not a question. And Brennan was glad the opposite was true, because the thought of him guessing anything correctly about Booth seemed absolutely repulsive. He didn't know Booth; she did. She knew him and she loved him and this man had no business pretending he could even begin to understand what they were. Booth was _good_, and he deserved better than this.

"You rarely come up in conversation," she said almost smugly. "Booth and Jared were children when they last saw you."

"You know Jared too then, huh? Of course you do. There was no separating those two."

"You should go."

"I want to talk to him, Temperance."

She may not have seen it before Booth had shown her the value in taking the time to look beyond the words people said, but there it was. Something forceful and demanding hidden beneath a request offered in an even tone. The anger rushed upward in her chest and she stamped it down. For Booth.

"He's made it clear that he has no desire to speak with you. If you're still here in ten minutes, I'll have you arrested."

"You really would, wouldn't you?" Joseph said.

There was amusement in his tone and she put her heart in her box. Because she was doing her best to open herself up but sometimes it was just too painful, and the swell of anger combined with heartache on Booth's behalf was overwhelming.

"There would be no hesitation," she confirmed. And then she turned on her heel and didn't look back.

Deep breaths. Mailbox. Elevator. And though she found herself giving more thought to children lately, in moments like these, when she wanted so badly to head back to the lab or write or _clean _in order to compartmentalize everything that was happening and _couldn't_, she wasn't certain she was ready. That she would ever be ready.

She knocked on her front door and listened to the sound of Parker rushing through the apartment. "It's me, Parker," she said loudly. "It's Bones."

The locks turned and the door swung open. "You took forever."

"Yes, well, here; put these on my desk for me, please."

Parker eagerly accepted the handful of envelopes and raced back down the hall, and her relief was palpable. Sometimes Parker was fairly easy to distract, but other times, he exhibited extraordinary tenacity.

"When did you say dad was coming again?"

As if on cue, the front door rattled and Brennan stepped forward to avoid being struck as it opened. Booth frowned as he stepped inside and took note of her shoes and the bag still slung over her shoulder.

"You guys just getting in now?"

"We went to the store first," Parker answered. "I asked if we could have ice cream for dessert today and Bones said you ate it all."

"What? No I didn't."

"Bones said it," he shrugged.

Booth turned to face her, expressing stark, theatrical indignation, and Brennan averted her eyes. She fumbled through her purse under the guise of searching for her phone and only looked up once Parker and Booth were deep in conversation and she was mostly sure she could control her face.

"Bones?"

When she looked up, Booth and Parker were both staring at her expectantly. It was a look she recognised; a look that meant this was almost certainly not the first time that her name had been called.

"Pardon me?"

"I was saying we should get dinner started," Booth said carefully.

She ducked her head again – because granting Booth eye contact could be dangerous – and dug busily through her bag as she walked forward.

"Yes. That's an excellent idea."

* * *

><p>Parker had dragged his parents and their respective partners from station to station, enthusiastically explaining his own artwork and that of his classmates – going over a painting done by a pretty, dark eyed little girl in particularly lengthy detail. Booth and Rebecca had traded knowing smiles over Parker's head, and the evening had been the slightly awkward variation on a good time that usually described the extended outings of their jigsaw family unit.<p>

But Brennan was quiet in a distracted fashion, not an observant one. Her not-quite-active presence didn't escape Booth's notice, and as they came through her front door for what would hopefully be the last time of the evening, he rubbed the back of his neck and contemplated the best way to broach the subject.

But, as was often the case, she was a few steps ahead of him.

"Parker appears to be rather enraptured by his classmate... Katelyn? Katherine?"

"Katelyn," Booth confirmed with a reflexive smile. "Yeah, he does. Poor kid."

"I need to tell you something."

"I kinda figured, Bones," he smiled softly. "You've been quiet all night."

"Oh."

"Coffee?" he suggested.

Brennan nodded. "Coffee would be good."

She walked into the kitchen and he followed close behind her. Too close. When she extracted the milk from the refrigerator and shut the door, she promptly crashed into Booth's chest and spilled the first quarter of the carton all over his shirt. They both cried out at the contact.

"Booth! I've told you not to stand so close to me!"

"Why is everything always my fault?"

Brennan forcefully placed the carton on the counter and brought a hand up to her temple. "Because you _hover_, and it drives me crazy."

"I'm the one that's all wet. I don't see what you have to get so upset about."

It was ultimately Brennan who was the first to laugh softly at the utter absurdity of the situation, but Booth wasn't far behind her. In the end, she heaved a somewhat defeated sigh and motioned him forward.

"You should shower. You'll be sticky."

"Don't worry about it, Bones," he pulled off his shirt and wiped at his chest. "You were going to tell me something."

"I can't have this conversation with you while you're half naked," Brennan stated definitively. "Shower. Then we'll talk."

"So what you're saying is you can't control yourself. I get it," Booth nodded his understanding.

He was graced with a genuine, crooked smile and Brennan shook her head ruefully. "Wow."

"I'm pretty impressive, right?"

She gave a throaty laugh and pushed him none too gently in the direction of the hall. "Go. And please be fast."

Booth smirked at her and continued on out of the kitchen, and Brennan broke off a sheet of paper towel to clean the drops of milk that had missed Booth and landed on the floor. For the first time that evening, she had a few minutes of solitude to place her thoughts in order, and she exhaled in relief. She was happy with Booth, but she coveted the time she got alone to dismantle her thoughts without the added pressure of another person in the same room.

When she heard a phone vibrating she assumed it was her own, but a glance toward the kitchen table and her dark display caused her to shrug and go back to the task at hand. When it began anew almost immediately after it stopped – not once, but three times – Brennan frowned and fished Booth's phone out of the coat he had dropped atop the island. She was about to take it into the bathroom when the name on the display caught her eye, and with one last glance down the hall she pursed her lips and hit the call button.

"What do you want?"

There was a pause, and then a heavy sigh. "To talk to my brother, Temperance. That would be why I called his phone."

"He's in the shower."

"Are you seriously not going to get him for me?"

"I find that I'm still very angry with you."

Across town, Jared took a moment to weigh the benefits of simply passing the information on to the slightly off- balance anthropologist versus delivering a snappy comeback. Ultimately, the best way to reach Booth _was _through her. Anyone with an ounce of common sense could see that.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? I acted like an asshole."

"You are _always _claiming to be sorry and yet your behaviour _never _changes," Brennan snapped furiously.

"I'll make it up to you."

"I doubt it."

"I _will_, but we can talk about that later. Right now you need to listen to me. For Seeley."

"What is it?" she asked warily.

"Our father got his stupid ass arrested in a bar fight. I don't know where he found my number, but apparently he thinks I can talk Seeley into bailing him out."

"Jared, that's not fair," Brennan interrupted. "You can't ask him to-

"Temperance would you just stop talking for two seconds? God, I'm not asking him to do anything. I'm just letting you know the local cops are transferring him to the FBI holdings. Professional courtesy or some shit like that. Someone's going to call Seeley as soon as he gets there and-

"And Booth is going to be very upset." Brennan let forth a slew of uncharacteristic curses and automatically glanced down the hall for the umpteenth time.

"Thank you for calling," she responded clinically.

She didn't wait for a response before she hung up the phone.

* * *

><p>When Brennan entered the bathroom the mirrors were already covered in steam, and she closed the door gently behind her before pulling back the curtain.<p>

"Jesus, Bones, way to let all the cool air in."

"I'm going out."

Booth frowned. "Out? What do you mean you're going out? We just got home."

"I'll be back soon." She was gone as quickly as she had entered, leaving Booth to stare blankly at the bathroom door and wonder what the hell had just happened. She was beyond running from difficult conversations. Especially when she had been the one to initiate them in the first place. But something had very obviously changed in the four minutes that had passed since he had stood with her in the kitchen.

Once he gathered his bearings he shut off the water and hurried out of the shower after her, but Brennan had long since reached the front door. She heard the water stop running just as she zipped up her coat, and Booth made it into the hall – towel wrapped around his waist and dripping water all over the wood floors – just in time to catch the door being slammed definitively behind her.

* * *

><p><em>Dun dun dun. Kidding. I really do apologise for the update delay; I'm going to do better.<em>

_The Brennan/Parker fact-off facts are courtesy of the immenseknowledge blogspot, which RositaLG oh so helpfully sent my way after I asked the twitterverse for one, general, interesting science fact. She's an overachieving fount of usefulness, that one._


	6. Chapter 6

Every chapter of this fic is for RositaLG, without question (happy birthday 5 months running, friend), but this chapter in particular is also for some1tookmename, eitoph, and biba79. Because there is one more round of sexy tiemz to be had here. Also, biba79 threatened to cancel Christmas if I didn't get my butt in gear and post already. You win, girls. You win.

* * *

><p>He gets fierce in my dreams seizing my guts,<br>He floods me with dread;  
>Soaked to his soul, he swims in my eyes by the bed<br>Pour myself over him, moon spilling in  
>And I wake up alone<p>

**Wake Up Alone**, Amy Winehouse

_When Seeley Booth meets Temperance Brennan, there's a spark. It's not the first spark he's had with another person, but it __**is **__the first time he just can't get the girl out of his head. Even after their days apart turn to weeks and months and then a year. In this first meeting – and then in the second and the third and so many after that – he knows that this means something. And in this, he's right (even though there are so, so many ways he's wrong). Brennan can acknowledge the initial attraction as exactly that; two aesthetically pleasing individuals who would almost certainly be physically compatible. Neither one of them knows nearly as much as they think they do._

_He doesn't __**K**__now; not right from the beginning (he can admit this later on, when he has everything he's ever wanted and he can almost laugh at the earlier version of himself) but he knows __**something**__, and this is a start. It plants a seed that flourishes and grows, then perishes during a particularly cold winter and is reborn the following spring._

_There's a spark. She's beautiful and brilliant and confident, and she owns her classroom. She challenges him. She doesn't believe in fate. She sees the world in clear cut black and white and she assaults a federal judge simply because she thinks he deserves it. He has quite literally never met anyone like her._

_His life is a mess, but she gives him a push. Because girls like her do not end up with messes for more than one night, and even though he still doesn't __**K**__now, he knows he wants much, much more than one night. He begins to take back control of his life; he starts with the gambling, and slowly but surely, everything else begins to follow. His focus on his work improves; he's always been good at his job but he puts his heart into it and before long he has an office of his own. He keeps the ties. He tries to fix things with his ex-girlfriend (they still mostly end up fighting or fucking, but he __**tries**__) and he gets more time with his son. Not as much as he would like, but it's a start._

_Cleo Eller brings her back into his life and he tries to be smooth, but his approach from the first time around is in no way effective. There's no more flirting or drinking or acknowledging that spark, and to be honest, there are quite a few moments when he wonders how he could have ever liked her at all. She's annoying. She's condescending. She's a loose fucking cannon of barely contained crazy who goes around blackmailing federal agents and shooting people without warning._

_But then she comes with him to a funeral and he finds himself telling her about his list, and she accepts his cosmic balance sheet. The things he keeps locked up tight come pouring out of him around her;__** I have a gambling problem but I'm dealing with it**__... __**I took a lot of lives; what I'd like to do before I'm done is try and catch at least that many murderers**__… these __pieces are far more important than initial attractions and presumed acts of fate... and he doesn't pick up on them, then._

_And so begins that __**something **__anew. She's still a know-it-all. He still mocks her and her science not because he doubts her abilities, but because __**someone's **__got to bring her back down to earth every now and again. And somehow it works out pretty even._

* * *

><p>There was never a point during which Brennan thought her impulsive decision was a particularly good one. Truthfully, there was very little thought involved period. In a very uncharacteristic fashion, she had rushed out of the apartment and to her car without much of a plan. And later on, it would occur to her that she now understood how Booth could do the most <em>illogical <em>things for what he saw as her protection.

But she was brighter than most, and she never did things half way, so when her brain clicked back into gear somewhere around the second set of lights, she immediately thought of all the ways this lack of planning was likely to backfire. Joseph would arrive at the Hoover before she would, and then someone would call Booth. And she wouldn't be with him to do anything about it.

Booth was her connection to the FBI; he had clearance and contacts and she couldn't even remember any of their names without getting a headache. While their vastly different talents often proved mutually beneficial, there were instances – like this one – when their habit of relying mainly on each other worked against them. She couldn't go to Booth. So she proceeded through another intersection and her mind raced, and after much deliberation she concluded that she really only had two options; Sweets and Caroline.

Of the two, Caroline was more likely to ultimately turn her down. And to yell at her.

Reluctantly, Brennan scrolled through her phone at the next red light and waited impatiently for the psychologist to pick up. By the third ring the ball of panic began to settle back into her throat. She would think of something else if he didn't answer, but it would be nice if this first step went smoothly.

"Yeah?"

The distracted voice filled her car and Brennan's breath caught in her throat. "Sweets."

"Dr. Brennan?" He sounded confused, which was to be expected considering how rarely she phoned him after working hours. Or during working hours, for that matter. He also sounded distracted, however, and Brennan frowned as the sound of gunfire threatened to damage her ears.

"Sweets? Are you at home?"

While he didn't pause his videogame, Sweets did turn down the volume. "Sorry. I was- ah, watching a movie."

"I need you to help me."

Sweets nearly dropped the phone and two seconds later his character was viciously pulled apart by a hoard of the undead.

Hell had frozen over.

* * *

><p>There was beauty and equality and rhythm to their partnership on levels that were so instinctual, neither Booth nor Brennan gave them second thought. She could navigate the twisted halls of Booth's workplace just as easily as he could travel the labyrinth that was her own, and when she walked into the building it was with confidence and determination despite the hastily pulled on sneakers and the ponytail. But the elevator wouldn't stop on the detainment floor without an employee badge being swiped, and for the first time, as she tried to present her argument at the security desk in a calm, rational tone that didn't match the swiftly growing turmoil within, Brennan found herself in true need of the access card she didn't have.<p>

Yes, he was aware that she was Special Agent Booth's partner. Yes, he was aware that she had years of field experience, and she accompanied Booth in the interrogation room more often than not. Yes, he understood the importance of cooperation between their institutions. But she _wasn't _an agent and there were liability issues and surely she could understand that she couldn't be allowed to just wander into whatever area of the building she saw fit?

The twisted, sick feeling deep in her belly intensified as the minutes passed and she argued with yet another person whom she couldn't recall ever seeing in her life. Soon, she became frustrated to the point that she was torn between crying and jumping the counter to strangle him.

This was exactly why she needed a goddamn badge of her own.

"If you would just let me phone Agent Booth-

"No." She slammed her hand down on the counter and his eyes widened. Good; she had his attention. It was about time.

Before she could restate her demands in a manner that would have almost certainly been less than diplomatic, there was the sound of rubber soles rapidly hitting linoleum. In the next moment, Sweets came into view and skidded to a slightly breathless halt beside her.

"Hey; sorry I'm late," he said as casually as he could manage.

And Brennan had never before been quite so relieved to see the psychologist in all the time she had known him.

When Sweets had agreed to assist her, she had vehemently rejected his offer to meet her at the building. And then she had eventually hung up on him. Part of her recognised the seeming ingratitude of this action, but Sweets had pushed for details she couldn't share and when his 'therapist' voice (Booth's term, not hers) had appeared, it would have taken more concentration than she could spare to continue the conversation.

He hadn't tried to call her back; instead, he had evidently jumped in his car and raced here and the kind of _care _her colleagues exhibited still occasionally took her by surprise.

"That's okay," she managed to stammer almost naturally.

"Ready to go?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks." Sweets flashed the guard a goofy smile, looking every bit the part of the awkward young twenty-something who had been too scatterbrained to call security and let them know he was on his way to escort her. Because they each had their roles they were capable of playing to their advantage. The man rolled his eyes dismissively and the co-conspirators went quickly down the hall to the nearest elevators.

* * *

><p>Brennan's stark relief was short lived. She would have to thank Sweets, that she knew, but before she thanked him, she needed to get rid of him. She waited until the elevator doors closed and then she hit the emergency stop button soon after they began to move.<p>

"As soon as we reach the jails, you may leave. I'm capable of continuing on under my own power."

"You're kidding," Sweets scoffed. The unblinking stare assured him that she wasn't, and he cleared his throat. "Dr. Brennan, they're not going to let you through without an agent."

"You're not an agent," Brennan pointed out.

"Yeah, okay, but I'm a doctor."

"So am I!"

"I'm a doctor that actually works here," Sweets countered.

Brennan's expression hardened and in it Sweets saw the protective glint he himself was far more accustomed to seeing in Booth.

"This isn't an experiment, Sweets. It's not a game, it's not an opportunity for you to observe me or Booth or his family. I'm not going to allow you to inject yourself into the situation for selfish purposes."

Sweets swallowed and bit back the desire to defend his actions. And he finally understood what it had to feel like for Brennan every time her coworkers assumed the worst of her. Every time someone – often him – accused her of feeling the wrong way. Of not exhibiting enough empathy or appearing too distant. Every time someone threw the person that she had once been in her face and refused to acknowledge that she had evolved.

_Oh right, of course. Because motive isn't important to you, just the fact that she was the one wielding the knife, right?_

He made a mental note to remember this moment, because it felt like a kick to the stomach.

"I just want to help."

"You did help. And now I have reached a position in which I no longer require assistance. I'm very grateful, Sweets."

"I want to help _more_. I can be like your sidekick. It has nothing to do with psychology."

"Like you 'helped' when you let me think that Booth was dead for three weeks?" Brennan replied scathingly. "Like you 'helped' when we told you about our first case and you manipulated Booth into leaping off a proverbial cliff?"

It became Sweets turn to look serious. "Whatever happened after that session wasn't my fault," he stated.

Brennan lifted her chin. "You told him to break the stalemate. You appealed to his risk taking nature."

"Something or someone else would have been the catalyst," Sweets said with quiet confidence. "Even if we had never had that session. Entropy, Dr. Brennan. Nothing is static. Not even you and Agent Booth."

There was a part of her that had come to recognise this, but she wouldn't, _couldn't _admit this to him. Because the fact remained that it had been unfair and maybe she and Booth would have better handled whatever catalyst pushed them forward had they just been given a little more time. It was a thin argument, but Sweets was supposed to be their friend and she couldn't help but think that regardless of what the catalyst could have been, it shouldn't have been him.

"Your interest was less than ethical," she spoke slowly. "And regardless of your intentions, I remain suspicious of your interference in any capacity."

"You won't get past the desk without me," Sweets informed her with a lot more confidence than he felt. Because even he knew that she could do damn near anything she decided she wanted to do. "I can get you in."

Brennan studied his face and Sweets could see the moment she reached her decision.

"Fine." The word came out tersely, expelled through clenched teeth. "But if you care about him at all, you won't be the one to bring this up. Never. Understood? Be his friend, Sweets; not his therapist. If you don't think you can do that then leave."

"Totally," Sweets exhaled. Off her sharp look, he cleared his throat and amended his statement. "I mean, yeah, of course. My lips will be a hundred percent sealed on the matter."

Brennan rolled her eyes, clearly still harbouring dissatisfaction with this turn of events, but she released the elevator and they continued their descent in charged silence.

* * *

><p>The dungeon was quiet for a Monday. For any day, really. Ethan Moore tackled the incomplete reports scattered across his desk and rolled his eyes when the sole cell occupant gave the bars a futile shake. He'd interacted with Booth on occasion, and he seemed like a good guy, but they had a casual work relationship at best. He wasn't looking forward to the awkward exchange that would almost certainly take place once Booth showed up. On the bright side, the equally awkward phone call had been taken out of his hands; that kid psychologist had phoned just before he had pulled Booth's contact information, and he had volunteered to take care of it. Which had suited him just fine.<p>

The man who was evidently Booth's father went through periods of sullen quiet and periods of agitation, like any drunk, and Ethan could only hope that he wouldn't have to listen to too many more of the agitated outbursts before the guy was out of there.

The elevator doors opened and he straightened in his seat, but before anyone came into sight, he heard an unmistakeably female voice that sent his eyes rolling skyward. Booth's partner went with him everywhere. He kicked himself for allowing this to slip his mind and then resigned himself to the fact that this was about to become twice as awkward as he had anticipated.

When Dr. Brennan appeared with the shrink, however, he frowned in confusion. "Where's Booth?"

While the kid hemmed and hawed, Booth's partner looked defiant. "He's not coming."

Fantastic.

Before he could make a reply, Brennan waltzed past him to the row of cells, and the shrink gave him an apologetic shrug before hurrying after her.

Ethan glanced longingly at the clock and wished this could have all occurred two hours ago. Before the shift change.

* * *

><p>Brennan approached the cell bars and Joseph grinned when he recognised her. "Seeley send you to do his dirty work?"<p>

"I am going to ask you questions, and you are going to answer them honestly. If you do this to my satisfaction, I will consider negotiating your release."

Sweets shifted uncomfortably. "Do you really think that's-

Brennan shot him a look and he closed his mouth. Joseph eyed him curiously.

"Who're you?"

The nervous movement ceased. "Booth's friend," Sweets answered simply.

"You mean his son?"

Somewhere to the right of them Brennan heard the agent at the desk snort, but she kept her focus. "You should do your best to pay attention. First question; did you specifically come to DC to find Booth?"

The amusement in his eyes dimmed and Joseph gritted his teeth. "No."

"Why, then?"

He shrugged. "I owe some people money back home. This seemed like as good a city to disappear for a while as any."

"You're trying to take advantage of him." Brennan's hands clenched and her eyes danced angrily. "You abused him. Abandoned him. How could you possibly expect him to help you?"

Joseph nodded his head in the direction of the corridor. "Take a look at that picture your friends took out of my pocket when they searched me. It's the same face Seeley had when he was six." His eyes unfocused momentarily as he reflected on nights from years past. "You could smack that kid into next week and he'd still be so goddamn _happy _if you so much as took him to the park."

"Because you were his father," her voice shook. "Because he loved you. He trusted you and you betrayed him over and over again."

Sweets glanced down the short corridor to the agent gazing intently at the paperwork before him. It was out of politeness, because there was no way he wasn't hearing every word of this conversation. While Brennan continued her stare down, Sweets edged his way back to the desk.

"Maybe you could take a walk for a couple minutes. Just to the cafeteria and back," he asked quietly.

Ethan turned a sympathetic eye to the anthropologist currently displaying a degree of emotion he doubted many saw from her. It bent the rules a little, but it was something he could do with a clear conscience. "Yeah. Sure."

Sweets tightly smiled his gratitude and returned to Brennan's side just as silently as he had left. Joseph paced the length of his cell on unsteady legs, and Sweets catalogued the contrast between his inebriated, uncoordinated movements and Brennan's purposeful stillness.

"I had bad days, okay?" His eyes drifted again, and it seemed to take a little more effort to pull his surroundings back into focus. "But I was a good father to those boys as often as I could be. And they seem to have turned out just fine regardless."

Brennan's mouth opened and almost immediately snapped shut. She thought of nightmares and guilty consciences and cosmic balance sheets and insecurities and deep rooted anger and the plethora of other issues Booth wrestled against daily. She thought of broken bones that had never healed quite right and a son he adored that he didn't get to see half as often as what would be fair.

She couldn't think of a single point of Booth's life during which he'd been fine. And what she wanted in this moment was to throw every damage that had ever befallen her partner into the face of the man that should have protected him. But this was knowledge of Booth that people earned. That _she _had earned. And Joseph was undeserving.

"Do you really plan to leave on Thursday?" she asked instead.

"Yes."

Brennan studied his face and then turned to Sweets when she couldn't come to a solid conclusion regarding the truth of this statement. Sweets nodded slightly and she pivoted back to face the bars.

"Okay."

"Okay?" Sweets repeated. "Whoa, just... no. No; this is a seriously bad idea. Bad idea."

"I didn't ask for your opinion, Sweets."

"That's it then? We're done?" Joseph enquired skeptically.

"Yes."

They heard a keycard slide through the doors that marked the west entrance, and the guarding agent returned. Brennan glanced at him and then back to Booth's father. "You will come with me. Then I will phone Booth."

"Why not just have Booth meet us here?" Sweets couldn't help but ask.

Brennan stared at him as if the answer should have been immediately obvious. Which Sweets supposed it was, to her.

"I'm not capable of predicting what will happen, but I do know that Booth would not want his father engaging him here."

Sweets took a moment to process this before shaking his head. "I still think it's a bad idea."

"And I'm still not asking for your opinion," Brennan said coolly. She focused on the agent for what was really the first time since she had entered the wing. "Open the door. Please."

This stretched the bounds of 'professional courtesy' just about as far as it could go, and Ethan seemed torn between doing his job and knowing that there were always allowances they made for their own that would appear unseemly when viewed by an outside, uninformed party. But there were few who could see Brennan as simultaneously vulnerable and determined as she appeared now without being affected. And he was not one of those few. Joseph's movements were decidedly more sluggish than they had been forty minute ago, and Ethan suspected he wasn't far from passing out anyway.

"Don't cause a scene on your way out," he said gruffly. Brennan nodded curtly in reply and turned back toward the cell, but he caught the glimmer of relief in her eyes before she did and he shook his head as he moved methodically through his key ring. Once the doors slid open, Brennan wasted no time.

"We need to leave. Now."

She took a purposeful step forward and Sweets dared to step into her path, even though the obvious reluctance in his expression hampered the air of confidence he was trying to exude. Brennan didn't blink and he visibly flinched under her stare.

"Move," she commanded quietly.

"Dr. Brennan-

"Sweets, I won't tell you again."

Joseph chuckled drunkenly. "You put on a good show, sweetheart, but it's going to take a lot more than this to have me pissing my pants like the twelve year old here."

She stamped down the rush of anger the same way that she had the last time. For Booth. She stamped down the anger and she took a half step back and she became a stone.

"You come with me or you stay in this cell. Those are your options."

He eyed her closely. "You're bluffing." Then he laughed again. "What _is _it about my son that draws you people? First that handful from the front desk last week, then you... tell me; you one of those women who needs to "fix" damaged men, or is it the other way around? Are damaged broads Seeley's type?"

Brennan's face must have changed because Sweets went from intimidated to concerned. But she cut him off before he could interrupt. She didn't require a babysitter now any more than she ever had and it was _irritating _being surrounded by people who took it upon themselves to constantly monitor her behaviour. "With me, or you stay here," she repeated.

Joseph now bore the brunt of her unwavering stare and he absorbed it silently. Then there was that slight twitching that spoke of danger and change and if she could sense it so easily after two encounters with him, she could only imagine what Booth had come to recognise during his early years.

"Something else you want to say to me?" He reached an unsteady hand to touch the locks of hair that had fallen free of her ponytail. Brennan shifted to avoid the contact and her eyes became a tumultuous blue.

Hands like Booth's and yet nothing like Booth's, and it bothered her a great deal to think that in a hundred years a scientist like herself could look at the bones of their hands and see the similarities more than the differences. The bones, for once, would fail to deliver the most important part of the story. But her eyes didn't flit a millimetre.

"Don't touch me."

Joseph's eyes darkened again and even Sweets' fists clenched, because he had known this terror once upon a time as well and in these moments he could remember more of that period than he generally cared to recall.

And then Joseph lunged at her. And he was fast, but years of alcohol abuse had dulled reflexes that had once been as quick as Booth's and she evaded his reach and promptly dropped him to the floor. Because she was pretty damn fast too.

The supervising agent – who's name she couldn't recall and who obviously had not been supervising as attentively as he should have been – swore and stepped forward, but Brennan got one more solid kick in before he reached her and knelt over the body sprawled out on the hard floor.

"Whoa," Sweets input belatedly.

Joseph seemed surprised more than injured, but shock soon gave way to fury. "I'll end your career."

"I would very much like to see you try," Brennan challenged.

He coughed and wiped a trickle of blood away from his lip. "What about Seeley? What if it was his career on the line?"

It was Brennan's turn to try and lunge forward – the lid on her rage had been blown clean off and with its release had gone her self control – and Sweets was just fast enough to catch her around the waist in a manner he would have never had the courage to do had he been given time at all to think before acting.

From his position crouched on the ground, Ethan Moore held down Booth's father and glared at Sweets reproachfully. "You call Booth and get him down here," he ordered through gritted teeth. "This is exactly why you people shouldn't be allowed out of your offices."

* * *

><p>Booth had tried to give her space, because sometimes they required breaks from one another and even if he didn't understand the trigger, he wouldn't begrudge her some time. But when the clock closed in on an hour later, he decided that a phone call couldn't be construed as out of order at this point and went looking for his cell phone. He vaguely remembered leaving his coat (and presumably his phone) in the kitchen, so he backtracked and searched his pockets. Coming up empty, he was just about to try the living room when he spotted the device sitting on the counter near her sinks.<p>

When the screen woke up and the details of a two minute conversation he had apparently had with his brother earlier that day were displayed, things began to make sense. His eyes narrowed at the recorded times, and he debated briefly over whether to phone Brennan or Jared for answers before the decision to do either was taken out of his hands by a new incoming call.

"Booth."

"Okay. This is so messed up. I don't even know where to start. I'm at a total loss."

Booth raised an eyebrow at the nonstandard greeting, but since it would have been too much of a coincidence to believe Sweets was phoning him in a panic for a reason unrelated to whatever nonsense Brennan and Jared had got themselves into, he schooled his features and tried to muddle through Sweets' incoherent ramblings.

"What's wrong, Sweets. Short, simple, and in English, if you can."

"I'm at work. _We're _at work. Dr. Brennan and me, that is. And your father. There was a bit of an altercation-

Booth pulled his coat on in one smooth motion without taking the phone away from his ear. "Is she okay?" he interrupted.

"What? Yeah. I mean, she's not happy, but she's-

"What kind of altercation? What are you two _doing _down there?"

"To keep things short, simple and in English, your dad was arrested, Brennan came to pick him up, things... spiralled... and now she can't leave until you get here. Which means I can't leave until you get here."

He shouldn't have been surprised. Really. He could talk to her until he was blue in the face and she would still do whatever she pleased. And in the end, it never seemed to matter how bad she pissed him off because he couldn't _not _do everything in his power to keep her safe.

"Who's in charge right now?"

Sweets took precious seconds longer to respond than Booth would have liked, and he bit his tongue to keep from snapping at the young psychologist. It would only serve to fluster him further and cause that much more of a delay.

"Agent Moore."

Booth nodded to himself. All things considered, it could have been worse. Moore was a good guy. "I'll be right there."

He hung up the phone and exhaled loudly before heading out the front door and slamming it behind him. On the drive, he tried to focus on the important things. Like the fact that Brennan wasn't injured and it didn't sound like anyone else was either. But he was annoyed and tense and, again, the thought of his partner having any kind of discourse with his father make his heart pound.

His cell phone chimed and at the next stop sign, Booth glanced at the new message.

_Everything good?_

Jared. Booth shook his head at how perfectly _not good_ everything was at the moment and didn't bother with a response.

* * *

><p><em>Seeley Booth has always been a vivid dreamer. In this scene, in this time before the army, before deserts and torture and killings and the loss of good men he had come to view as family, before nightmares became about reliving trauma and remembering every sordid detail as he woke up gasping, he's a burdened child who strives to be normal during the day and survives the nameless terrors that plague him during the night.<em>

_He doesn't remember his dreams at this age. Not usually. This Wednesday is as ordinary as so many others before it and he wakes with a start - heart racing, skin on fire, stomach in knots, slight trembling in his limbs that he will soon learn to steady through force of will alone - and he can't place the horror that had brought him to this state._

_He swallows. Tries to steady his breathing. And when his stomach drops back to where it should be, he slips out of bed and treads into the hall. He knows this house; he could easily find his way to the kitchen in total darkness. But there's a nightlight in the hall for Jared and even though he's not a baby, it's nice to be able to see. To know he doesn't have to brave the black._

_The door to his parents' bedroom is shut all the way, and as he carefully sidesteps a creaky spot in the old floors, he decides that his father must have come home sometime after he had fallen asleep. His mother usually leaves the door open a crack. It's not a large house, so he reaches the kitchen quickly and without incident and he has to blink against the blinding light of the fridge. Eventually he finds the milk, and he carefully removes the jug before moving one of the kitchen chairs below a high cupboard (with equal care) and reaching for the nearest glass._

"_What the hell are you doing, Seel?"_

_He flinches and nearly topples off his precarious perch on the counter, but he catches himself. The way he almost always does._

"_Sorry."_

_Joseph studies Seeley almost as closely as Seeley studies him in turn, and when he steps forward, Seeley slips quietly off the counter and takes a half step back. It's dark, and though he can read the air without looking at his father's face and everything __**seems **__fine, he knows that it's good to be cautious when it's this late. When he can smell whiskey and beer and the words he's hearing are not as clear as they should be._

_But Joseph merely reaches above him and pulls down a glass, and then he goes so far as to pour a generous amount of milk into the cup and hold it out._

_Seeley accepts the glass. "Thank you."_

_Joseph nods, caps the jug and places it back in the fridge. Their eyes adjust first to the rush of light and then back to the darkness, and Seeley sips the cold milk as his father moves the chair back to the table and settles into it._

"_What are you doing up so late?"_

_Seeley wanders over to the table and climbs into the adjacent chair. "I don't know," he swings his legs absently. "I woke up."_

"_Bad dream?"_

_His chin tilts proudly. "No sir," he answers at first. And then off of the slight upward quirk of Joseph's lip, he caves and amends his statement slightly. "I don't think so. I don't remember."_

_Joseph nods once, as if he considers this to be an especially wise answer, and Seeley's small chest puffs out as he takes another drink. This feels like a grown up conversation. The kind of conversation to which he's not usually privy. _

"_Did you wake up feeling like you just ran a race?"_

"_Yeah," Seeley agrees quickly. And suddenly the unpleasantness of it all seems a little more worth it, now that he knows it's something his father understands. _

"_I dream too, Seeley," Joseph murmurs. The confession takes him slightly off guard, and Seeley holds his breath, afraid to break the spell of this moment. "Some people learn to control it though, when they get older."_

"_Like you?"_

"_Nah. Not me." His father closes his eyes and rests his head against the back of the chair, and it's still a grown up conversation but Seeley no longer feels like he's quite a part of it. "But you, Seel? You'll be just fine."_

* * *

><p>His father was handcuffed to the bench running along the wall across from the front desk, slumped to one side and barely holding on to consciousness from the looks of it. Brennan was sitting in the desk chair. Sweets was sitting on the desk to one side of her. And Agent Moore was standing silently to Booth's right as he processed the situation.<p>

The scene would have been comical if it were maybe someone else's life.

"Booth..." Brennan began to stand and then glared resentfully at the forgotten cuff on her wrist shackling her to the chair before sitting back down.

"You cuffed her? Seriously?"

Moore held up his hands in self defense. "You and I both know she's no china doll, alright, Booth? I'm sorry but I don't want to be the guy filling out the ten page report that would have come with her knocking someone out."

"She could kick your ass even with the handcuffs; you realise that."

"I don't doubt it. That's why I'm standing over here and the shrink is sitting next to her."

There was a brief flash of pride that crossed Brennan's face, but off Booth's obvious displeasure she looked appropriately chagrined. He held out his hand for the key and Moore placed it in his palm, and then Booth set about freeing her without meeting her eye.

"I-

"Not now," he said through gritted teeth. "Go home, Temperance. I'll take care of this."

"In her defense," Sweets began, "It wasn't exactly uncalled for."

Brennan silenced Sweets with a single dark, warning look and Booth watched the exchange impatiently. He briefly considered questioning it, but the desire to just get them all out of the building as soon as possible overrode his curiosity.

"Sweets, walk Bones to her car."

"What?" she protested indignantly.

"Umm, I don't think-

"Did that sound like a request to either of you?"

They both ducked their heads with the expressions of chastised children and again, Booth was pretty sure the situation would hold comedic potential if he could be the one watching it unfold from the outside. As it stood though, everything about the past week had just about stopped being funny. In short order, he got Sweets and Brennan moving – not entirely willingly – and then convinced Moore that he had no intentions of going postal if left unsupervised. That part took a bit of work, but considering what the agent had just handled regarding his partner, Booth couldn't exactly hold it against him.

And then he was alone with his father for the first time in well over two decades. Booth watched him slumber for a few seconds and then ran a hand wearily over his face. When he opened his eyes again, his father was watching him unsteadily.

"I'm sorry, Seel. I really am."

And then he vomited all over the floor.

* * *

><p>Brennan chose to wait by the vehicles instead of going home. Sweets hadn't been keen on leaving her, but she had coerced his cooperation. Again. The wait stretched on, and as it became increasingly apparent that Booth had no intention of coming out any time soon, she re-entered the building and took the nearest elevator to Booth's floor.<p>

The blinds were drawn and the lights were off, but she tried his office door regardless and it swung open with only a slight creaking of the hinges. Her shoulders slumped as she took in the empty room, and she was just about to turn back when she heard his voice come from the darkness.

"In or out, Bones. Make up your mind."

Brennan found herself exhaling in relief as she made out his form on the floor. She shut the door behind her and waited for her eyes to adjust to the dimness of his office.

Booth was sitting beside the door, knees drawn up and arms slung casually overtop them. Brennan sat down beside him and rested her head against the door.

"I'm in, Booth."

That was all she said, and while Booth knew she probably meant it literally, the words wormed their way into a heart that was doing its best not to fracture into a million irrecoverable pieces.

"Lock the door, would ya?"

Brennan reached up with her left hand and deftly turned the deadbolt. "Everyone in your office seems to have gone home. I believe we could make it to our vehicles without encountering anyone else."

"I just want to sit here for a minute, Bones. Just... recharge a little."

She had expected him to be angry, projecting that silent fury she knew she was capable of provoking on occasion, but the defeated tone was worse. She would rather see Booth angry than so upset he couldn't even find it in himself to yell at her.

_My dad drank._

_Bones, look; you don't need my permission, okay? It's- it's cool._

The tired, low timbre crushed her metaphoric heart, and later she would once again marvel at the way it was possible to feel another person's emotional pain as vividly as she did her own. But right now she couldn't process anything not directly pertaining to Booth's well being, and her concern for her partner dulled the sting in her chest.

"Then I will sit with you until you're ready," she said slowly.

Beneath his exhausted demeanour, Booth was furious. He was angry at his father, at his brother, at _Bones _for being so _stupid _despite being so smart. At the universe, really, at this point.

But she was there. And when one felt horribly alone in the world, that meant a lot.

The elevator doors pinged and in the silence of the bullpen, the sound easily reached their ears. They exchanged looks of trepidation and remained motionless as the footsteps approached the door and a knock came softly.

"Booth?"

It was Sweets' voice and Booth's eyes widened slightly before his features settled back into grim stone. "Not now," he said lowly, just loud enough for Brennan to hear. "He stays out there."

Sweets gave a curious tug on the door, and they heard mild shuffling as he attempted to peer between the closed blinds, but he soon retreated back through the bullpen and Booth's tense shoulders relaxed minutely. The elevator doors opened and closed again, and he sighed and dropped his head onto Brennan's shoulder.

"I'm really mad at you," he said.

Brennan swallowed and shifted so that she could rest her head against his. "I know."

The darkness covered them, and despite the emotional dervishes, the isolation prompted feelings of solidarity. If it was to be the two of them versus the outside world, they could give and receive wordless comfort while remaining at odds. Besides, it was easier to be honest and calm when they could barely even see one another.

So they took a reprieve, because in an hour he would still be angry and she would still be contrite – for hurting him; _always _for hurting him and not in the least for assaulting someone who deserved it – and being together meant they could temporarily exist solidly in a grey area without the uncertainty internally tearing them to pieces.

Eventually Booth stood and Brennan followed his lead, and they left his office together. There was no more touching as they stood in the elevator, as they entered the parking garage, as he got in his car and she got in hers, but he followed her to her place and parked beside her, and they moved together.

* * *

><p>There was a marked change in Booth by the time they reached Brennan's front door. The silence remained but she could feel tension and anger coming off of him in waves, and part of her was relieved – because defeated-Booth made her feel sick – but another large (more cowardly) part of her wished they could have travelled together so that he hadn't had an entire car ride to fester in his anger alone.<p>

He couldn't even look at her anymore. Not even briefly.

"Booth..." she began once they were inside.

"It's fine," he cut her off calmly.

The last time he had uttered that phrase in that exact tone, his vehicle had borne the full brunt of the rage boiling beneath the surface. They were both aware of this, and they both chose to ignore it.

He walked into the kitchen and pulled a glass from the shelf, then he filled it with tap water and took a long drink. Anything to keep his hands busy. Anything to keep from looking at her. He was so concentrated on keeping his thoughts controlled he didn't consciously note the way his hand was tightening on the glass until it shattered in his grip and Brennan gasped behind him.

He muttered an expletive and Brennan reached for his hand to check for damage, but none of the glass had pierced his skin and Booth twisted away from her touch to kneel and pick up the broken pieces. As he berated himself for the loss of control, Brennan retrieved the broom and began to sweep up the smaller fragments.

He dumped the pieces contained in his large palm into the garbage bin and filled a new glass with water – careful to watch the power of his grip – then sat at the kitchen table. As he pressed the cold glass against his temple, he absently tried to remember whether Brennan kept her Advil in the kitchen or the bathroom.

"It's okay."

"It's not okay. You can't let me do things like that, Bones, you _can't_."

A little bit of anger trickled into the tone he was being so careful to control, and Brennan sat down across from him. "You are allowed to show me what you're feeling. I can handle it, Booth."

"What do you want me to do, Bones? Flip tables over and throw dishes? What?"

"If it makes you feel better."

"In the real world, people don't get to just throw things because it makes them feel better. The rules of the universe may not apply to you, but they damn well apply to me, okay?"

"I'm sorry!" she blurted.

It was difficult to convey total sincerity with those two often abused words, but Brennan did. Because her apologies were usually reluctant and complicated and the length of the deliverance was more often than not an indication of how sorry she really was. _I'm sorry _in its succinct, bare entirety didn't pass her lips often and the utterance indicated that she felt it so strongly she couldn't find other words.

"I'm _sorry_, Booth. I wanted to help you. I answered the phone and then I was angry... when I got there and he brought up that picture I just-

At the mention of the newspaper clipping, Booth rose suddenly from the table and walked out of the room.

"Booth," she called in disbelief.

He turned the corner without looking at her, and without hesitation she followed him down the hall. He made it into the bedroom a few seconds before she did, and by the time she was opening the door again after he had closed it ever so definitively, Booth had dug her copy of the newspaper photo out from the bottom of her nightstand drawer.

That son of a bitch. How had he even known she kept that there?

She took a step forward and then her eyes widened in horror as she watched – in what felt very much like slow motion – Booth remove his Zippo from his pocket and flip it open.

"_Don't_." She rushed forward and snatched the paper out of his hands, but the flame had already touched the edge and it began to burn quickly. Tears pricked at the back of her eyes and it made her furious, but she couldn't dwell on that now. By the time she tapped out the flame most of the caption was gone, but the photo itself was salvaged and that was the important thing.

She dried her eyes defiantly on her sleeve and pressed the clipping protectively against her chest. "It's _mine_. What gives you the right to just, to just come in here and start setting things on fire?"

"It's _done_. Don't you get that? Look me in the eyes and tell me you're going to look at this ever again without thinking about him."

"I will!" She tried to raise her voice to match his, but her throat was still constricted and it came out strained at best. Damn it. Damn it damn it damn it. "I _will _and if you ever do anything like this again, Booth, I will never forgive you."

"Oh, you're not going to forgive _me_? You answer my phone, you rush out of here like a bat out of hell without talking to me first and get into a fight with my dad and I have to bail you out of _jail _for the hundred millionth time, and you're not going to forgive _me_? That's great, Bones. Great."

"I said I was sorry." The constriction in her throat was increasing; anger and sadness and guilt and shame all rolling around together and threatening to smother her. And when she looked down at her hands it was to discover that they had reflexively fisted, further damaging the clipping.

"He will suck every part of you dry," Booth said. "You won't have anything left of yourself. Does any of this sound familiar? It is what he does and I _told _you that. And you never listen!"

He began to pace the length of her bedroom and Brennan did her best to smooth the wrinkles out of the paper. Then she gave up on trying to match his volume. "We are very confident, very talented individuals, and we are very compatible. And yet..."

Her voice was soft and it served as a violent contrast to the loud exchange of words from seconds before. Booth stopped pacing and stared, and Brennan swallowed before forcing herself to continue.

"... occasionally, I am still confused by your definitions of love, and I find it unnerving that after all this time, I'm still unable to define – even to myself – what it is that we are." She took a breath as he continued to stare without speaking, but then it occurred to her that this was exactly the kind of half finished statement that generally sparked miscommunication and arguments between them of monumental proportions. So she hurried on. "And it doesn't make sense, but when I look at this, I see it. I can see what other people see, what _you _see, and I can understand it. It becomes tangible."

Booth's eyes fell to the photo that remained – in his eyes – far more trouble than it was worth. "Can you just put that away? I don't want to look at it."

Her hands continued to absently stroke the creases in the paper and she gazed at it wistfully. "It's quite obvious that you love me. And that I... love you."

It wasn't the first time that she'd said the words, but they still didn't come easy for her and probably never would, and his stomach flipped the way it did every damn time.

She saw the hesitation in his eyes, the slight fade in anger, and she let the photo drop from her fingers and flutter to the floor as she stepped toward him. "I love you, Booth. _I love you_. He can't take that. In this matter, we are transcendent."

She wrapped her arms slowly over his shoulders, and when he didn't pull away, she pressed her cheek against his and willed them to be okay. And when Booth's arms circled her back, relief washed over her. She was tired. Her hand still stung. She didn't have the energy for a full twelve rounds of screaming.

Booth sighed into her hair. "You're pretty good at this, Bones. No matter how confused you think you get."

She smiled against his skin. "I have a steep learning curve."

Brennan couldn't have pinpointed the exact moment their tentative touches took a sexual turn, but it felt to her as if one moment they had been standing in the middle of her bedroom and the next they were naked and rolling across her freshly laundered sheets and absolutely, positively, done talking.

He slipped inside of her and her hips reflexively surged upward as she inhaled, and their rhythm was fast but controlled and they were perfect, so perfect together... and it was all wrong.

"More," she whispered, tightening her thighs around him and drawing him closer closer closer to her. "More."

And he thrust harder, faster, but it wasn't what she wanted.

"I..." she tried again breathlessly. "Please."

The mechanics were right and yet something was making her sad and even as she tried to ask him to _fix _it, she couldn't understand where they were missing. There was something she needed, something _more_, something that he usually did that he wasn't doing now, and until she could figure out what it was, her body was going to continue saying 'yes' while her metaphoric heart felt markedly empty.

"Booth, I need- I need-

"What, Bones," Booth finally asked. "What?"

Even his voice wasn't the way it should have been. And the frustration she felt was overwhelming. _What was wrong with her? _She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on the act alone. On her accelerated heartbeat and the smell of sweat and the feel of taut muscle and warm flesh and the glorious friction caused by him moving inside her. They were good at sex. Very good. For years, _this _would have been enough, more than enough, between her and her sexual partner. Whatever this _thing _bothering her was, should – and could – be put out of mind until they were finished.

Except...

She opened her eyes and watched Booth – studied him, really – as he moved. The human body; this was what she did. This was something that gave her answers when no one else – even Booth – could. Strong jaw, broad shoulders, the fluid motion of an athlete, a slight clicking of the T7 and T8 vertebrae that spoke of damages hidden beneath tan skin. But it wasn't anthropology that gave her the final clue this time.

His eyes were dark and beautiful (his eyes had always been beautiful to her but she knew better than to use the term to his face) and he was staring at the curve of her shoulders, at her hair fanned out against the sheets, but not at _her_. It was something intuitive and messy and not at all provable with science, and personal evolution allowed her to see it and interpret it in a manner that made sense. She had grown accustomed to meeting his eye if the position allowed it and _knowing _his love in a way she couldn't quantify. _Feeling _it in a way that wasn't at all rational and in that moment _not even caring_.

Very good sex wasn't enough for her anymore. Not when he wasn't entirely with her.

_Pyramids are better at change than you are._

She fought to control her breath and hitched a leg tightly over Booth's hip, keeping their bodies joined as she rolled them over. She placed her hands on his chest for balance and allowed him to adjust to the new position in kind, and then she gyrated her hips in tight circles once, twice, before lifting off him and falling forcefully back down, sheathing him fully in her heat. Booth's hips bucked reflexively, lifting her easily for a brief moment, and her feet twitched as she took him in that much further. She kept her hands on his chest and she rode him hard, almost desperately, needing him to _be _with her. Needing him to need their connection as much as she had come to realise she needed it. Her breasts swayed with her movement and then Booth was looking at her again instead of through her, and a cry of partial pleasure and partial relief escaped her as he sat forward – forcing her hands to find purchase on the mattress either side of him – and fondled her roughly with the large hands that were so wonderfully right over her sensitized skin. And then he rolled them back. He rolled them back and he buried his face in her neck, and she could do nothing more than fist a hand tightly in his hair has he pounded into her.

"Tell me you love me," she panted heavily.

He trailed kisses over her exposed throat and nibbled at salty skin. "I do," he murmured.

Her fingers travelled down to his back and tightened, and Booth released a strangled gasp as the pain of her nails breaking his skin mixed with the pleasure of their hips meeting again and again.

"Tell me," Brennan insisted. The tightening in her lower body was now imminent sexual release combined with mounting anxiety. _She_ knew this wasn't right, even if it appeared that her body didn't.

"You're everything."

It wasn't the response she had asked for and that niggling piece of her brain that was still processing his behaviour recognised this, but she couldn't piece together the words to push him any further. And then Booth's strokes became erratic, and she screwed her eyes shut tight anew to _concentrate_, because he was close and the thought of being alone in this on a physical plane as well as the emotional one was too much.

But he pulled a nipple into his mouth just before he came and he tugged firmly with his teeth in that way that _obliterated _her ability to think, and she cried out as her orgasm took her by surprise before he had quite finished twitching inside of her.

She savoured the weight of his solid frame; Stable. Safe. Calm. It was a normal response amidst a host of things that had been not-quite-them and it brought about so much feeling she had to swallow back an unexpected lump in her throat. The contours of his spine belonged to her gentle fingers until he rolled onto his back, and then Brennan turned onto her stomach and curled her body into his.

Contact. It wasn't always Booth that required it for reassurance.

The sound of their loud breathing was the only noise to be heard in the bedroom, and eventually Brennan's heartbeat slowed and her eyelids became so, _so _heavy, but she fought the temptation of sleep. Booth's arm was around her and his slow blinking told her he was equally tired, and she _needed _to be sure he would rest before she rested herself.

However, exhaustion soon overrode vigilance and Brennan fell victim to slumber. And when she woke, he was gone.


	7. Chapter 7

I've had a lot of negative names for this fic (the 'Bday Fic From Hell' being my favourite) mainly because it started off as a oneshot for RositaLG's birthday, and just freakin' spun out of control from there. There was a little bit of resentment on my end (for the fic... not for Jenn. Just so that's clear). But somewhere along the way I must have started to become rather attached to it, because I'm almost sad to see it go. Almost. So, to any of you who may have become rather attached as well, I hope you find this ending satisfactory. Thank you for reading, and feel free to tell me what you think.

Also, thanks to RositaLG, some1tookmyname, jadedrepartee, NatesMama and andreuuchis for the constellation help. I am useless at anything and everything science. Clearly. And to biba79, for being a slave driver and making me get things done and banning me from Twitter until I polished this puppy off.

* * *

><p>And I'm getting weary waiting for the harbour lights to change,<br>I've forgotten what I do it for, but I tread water just the same.  
>And I'll never let this pair of hands forget to pull their weight;<br>this burden may be more than I would like to bear, but less than I can take.  
>And I'll tread water.<br>I tread water.

**Tread Water, **Sara Bareilles

_The kitchen smells like cinnamon and he associates this scent with warmth and safety. He's too young to quantify this reaction but he's sitting at the table working through his math homework, and his mother is mixing apple slices and sugar and lemon juice, and he is happy. Mostly._

"_Jared, honey stop putting your hands in the bowl. They're dirty."_

"_I washed them, mommy." Jared holds his hands palms outward in front of him and he spreads his fingers as far apart as he can manage._

"_Yes, darling. And then you licked them."_

_Seeley snorts, then quickly ducks his head as the noise draws his mother's attention. He scribbles something on his sheet of paper and he's pretty sure it's wrong, but at this point he just wants to be able to say with honesty that he's finished._

"_You know, you could help too if you would just finish your work, Seeley."_

"_I'm trying," he grumbles._

_He__ knows that this isn't exactly true, and his mother has faith in the intelligence of her sons so she doesn't yield. _

_(She has the inkling that her boys are smarter than what makes sense when one considers their parents, and if Seeley is struggling in subjects that have never been difficult for him before, she can think of only one glaring explanation. And it hurts her heart. _

_So she tries extra hard. She tries to make up for her choices. She tries to love her boys fiercely enough for two parents. She tries to love them patiently and consistently and she has to believe that it will make a difference. She believes what all good parents would like to believe; her boys will be smart and loved and they will grow to do great things.)_

"_I can help," Jared adds cheerfully. He jumps down from the counter before she can stop him and wanders over to the table, and when his grubby hands begin to paw at the worksheet, Seeley's protest is instant._

"_Mom!"_

"_Jared, leave your brother alone."_

"_But I'm __**helping**__."_

"_Help over here, sweetheart."_

_Seeley glares and can't help pushing his brother. Just a little bit. Because the truth is, he __wants to be helping; sitting at this stupid table reading stupid problems just because his stupid teacher had phoned his mom, seems far beyond unfair. Especially when his stupid brother gets to run around touching everything._

_And then Jared pushes him back. He's too small to really hurt him, but the fact that he dares to try sends a little jolt of anger running through Seeley and he shoves him again. Just a little harder this time. Jared falls backward and Seeley glances anxiously in the direction of their mother, but her back is turned. Before he can be relieved, Jared picks himself up off the floor and chooses to head butt him. And the brawl that follows does not escape their mother's attention._

"_Boys, come on. Knock it off."_

_She wipes her hands on her skirt and moves toward the table, but Seeley manages to slip in one last kick to his younger brother's knee before she effectively separates them._

"_Seeley," she warns._

_He absorbs the reprimand and turns on his dashing smile as his mother lifts Jared and sets him back on the counter. However, the disarming grin disappears when Jared sticks his hand back in the bowl and places another chunk of apple in his mouth. His brother may be only four years old, but he has already perfected the art of gloating._

"_He pushed me," Seeley complains._

"_He's four."_

"_But he __**pushed **__me."_

_She waits until she is certain that Jared is distracted by the pie filling – and therefore unlikely to attempt leaping from the high counter again – before she approaches her son and runs her hands gently through his hair._

"_Concentrate, Seeley," she says before dropping a kiss on the top of his head._

"_It's too hard."_

"_You're a very smart boy. I don't want any more calls from your teachers."_

_The front door opens. Closes. Seeley sits straighter in his chair, his mother pulls Jared off the counter, and Jared begins to protest before he is silenced by her look._

_It had been difficult for Seeley to concentrate from the beginning, but it's near impossible now. The air lacks violence but the memory of the night before is still fresh, and he unconsciously rubs at his shoulder in the place it continues to throb. His mother resumes her baking and he takes his cue from her and tightens his grip on his pencil. He erases his last answer, __**concentrates**__, and fills in the correct one. There's a dull ache forming in his head – it happens sometimes when he tries to focus on too many things at once – but he endures and the charade doesn't slip. _

_Problem 6) three hundred and forty four, divided by four._

_His father is in the hall and Seeley listens closely as he places his keys on the hook beside the door. Four goes into thirty-four eight times. Eight times four is thirty-two. The footsteps in the hall are heavy, but they're balanced. Thirty four subtract thirty two is two. His father enters the kitchen, slides an arm around his mother's waist, and pats his brother on the head. Bring down the four. Four goes into twenty-four six times. The answer is eighty six. _

_He moves on to problem seven. He greets his father. The numbers begin to swim on the page as his head pounds a little harder. Eventually he stops trying to split his focus and he concentrates fully on what's important. On the tone of his father's voice. On the number of times his father refills his glass. Today is good, but yesterday had been good as well. Until it wasn't._

_He stacks his sheets neatly and slips them into his backpack. For a moment he feels the throbbing in his shoulder ever so much stronger, but the important thing is that he can see clearly once again and the pressure behind his eyes is fading away to nothing. _

_Jared is young, but he's young too. His surroundings change and he changes with them. Another five minutes pass and while there's a fraction of him that maintains his guard, that studies the scene, it's more of a reflex than anything else. Most of Seeley tries to believe that this can be permanent. That he can be normal. That the pain in his shoulder will fade away and with it, the memory of all fears and pains before it._

_He flinches when his father touches his back, but the movement is slight and he corrects it quickly. He takes his first piece of apple from the bowl still resting atop the counter and his mouth is flooded with that perfect mix of tart and sweet. It's uncooked. Cold. _

_But the kitchen smells like cinnamon._

_Seeley Booth clings to this._

* * *

><p>He slept, but not for long. The joints in his legs were aching steadily, which meant that it would probably rain before the day was over. His mind was restless. Once a minimal sleep quota had been filled, Booth woke and not even Brennan's steady breathing or the fluttering of her eyelids as she dreamed could calm him. So he left.<p>

He didn't leave a note, and for his own sake, he couldn't bring himself to wake her. Because talking would mean _talking _and he still felt empty and exhausted. They were still unbalanced and it was because _he _was unbalanced, and he couldn't fix that now any more than he could have last night. It was impossible to hold a grudge when Brennan opened herself to him so completely. But last night, after his anger had cooled, there had been nothing left in him to replace it. And while he had felt the distance between them, _his _distance, there was a disconnection between his mind and his actions and he hadn't been able to overcome it. Not even for her.

A man and a woman brought you into the world, and you owed your existence to them whether you fell under the category of gift, accident, or total mistake. Maybe they didn't deserve you. Maybe you didn't deserve them. But you were tied together for eternity just the same. There would always be those who tried to teach you that you could be better. That your mind and your actions were yours to control. But that man and that woman's bones were your bones, their features were your features, and deep inside where it counted, you knew that their shortcomings were only a hair-trigger away from becoming your shortcomings. Biology couldn't be undone, it couldn't be rewritten, and the horrible, cold truth was, it was your burden to bear for a lifetime.

Booth had learned more about genetics and hardwiring and biological pulls from Brennan than he ever had in any science class. He drove across town to a rundown hotel and he knew that there were things stronger than biology. Greater than science. He was part of a family that was less conventional and yet immeasurably more functional than the one he had known as a child. His son was not afraid of him. His partner was neither afraid of him nor anyone else, even when he thought she ought to be. But DNA was DNA, and his father was his father. These were what his partner called facts.

He couldn't change the facts, but he could continue to choose his family in all the ways that mattered. His brother would always be his brother, and they would never have the relationship they had shared as children again. His father would always be his father, and they would never have any relationship at all. He could continue to build a life with Bones. He could embrace her team of crack scientist coworkers (because they had long since come to mean as much to him as they did to her). He would begin to let his past go, let his anger go, and maybe then he could (figuratively) conquer biology.

* * *

><p>Despite his initial rejection of the idea, Booth found himself at the front desk, requesting a call be put through to his father's room. And then he went outside and turned the poker chip in his pocket restlessly. Now that he was here, he wished he had taken the time to interrupt Brennan's sleep. She would be awake by now; he could imagine her sitting up and looking to the nightstand for a note that wasn't there. He could imagine the puzzled furrow of her brow, and the quick change to a work-mode in which she would tuck all things concerning him firmly in the back of her mind. The vague guilt that had been hanging over his head intensified, and he swallowed against it and looked up at the sky.<p>

The air smelled of ozone, further cementing his notion of the rain to come. The moon was still clearly visible in the darkness of early morning and there were a few stars peeking through as well, which was a rarity in the city. Big Dipper, Little Dipper, Orion's Belt. He found them easily, and then he picked out the constellations that proved a little more difficult. Monocerus. Puppis. Delphinus. He had carried out this exact ritual in deserts and grassy fields abroad. It had been a practice for so long he rarely remembered that it was an unexpected talent he had learned early in life from the very man he awaited now.

"_I don't see it."_

"_Don't get frustrated, Seel, you'll get it. Follow my hand."_

_He squints at the sky, but he still can't find anything that looks remotely like a lion. And yet, he wants to please his dad. So he squints at the still, inky canvas miles upon miles above him and he waits for it to come into focus. He's a lifetime away from becoming the man who can sit still indefinitely while waiting for a perfect shot, but every man has a beginning. His is here, spread out on his back in the damp grass that carpets his backyard, next to his father._

"_There," he points._

_Joseph chuckles. "Now you're just guessing."_

His father had flown planes. Memorised skies. It had been knowledge hidden deep within a man who had obtained little education. Even the worst parents could sometimes be teachers.

Booth's coat had been left casually undone, but against the cool air he zipped it all the way and then returned his hands to his pockets. Behind him a door opened, and he turned expectantly toward the entrance.

"Hey, Seel."

His father's shoulders were hunched and he squinted even against the dim light. His every movement was calculated to cause minimal discomfort, though it was evident that even the bare minimum was proving painful. Booth had to refrain from sighing. Having a conversation with someone who was grossly hungover was perhaps every bit as difficult as having a conversation with someone who was bordering on blackout drunk.

"This," Booth removed a hand from his pocket and gestured vaguely between them, "this has to stop."

"Look, Seeley I'm sorry about what happened last night. Just... coffee. Let's get coffee. My head's a little foggy."

"You think?" Booth replied bitterly.

"Just give me a minute, Seel."

"A minute? You've got to be kidding. You've had more than twenty years."

"Okay. I get it. You're angry. I would be too."

The half assed empathetic effort was almost enough to trigger that slow burning deep in the pit of his stomach, but being angry had become all but mechanical, and it wasn't worth the energy.

He was older now, so was his father, but this wasn't the first time he had been dragged into this scene. Years ago there had been perfunctory apologies while he had tiptoed about a small house in the early morning hours. Making coffee. Fetching Aspirin. Eating cold cereal and watching cartoons with the volume hovering just shy of muted. His version of normal.

"Do you even remember what happened last night?" Booth asked. The ensuing silence was telling, and he nodded his head. "Yeah. I kind of thought as much. Why- why are you here?"

Joseph angled his head to the side. "She didn't tell you?" he asked curiously.

Booth worked his jaw back and forth. He hadn't given Brennan an opportunity to say much, and what she _had _said remained mostly in defense against the things he had said. There was that same haze surrounding last night that covered so much of the past week, and he almost felt that if he tried especially hard, he could perhaps convince himself that it was all a vivid dream.

"I'm asking you."

"I didn't come here looking for you, Seel. That part just happened."

"We're not going to do this again," Booth stated evenly. "So if there's anything you want to say, I'd say it now if I were you."

Joseph shivered against the chilly air as it penetrated his shirt, but the cold seemed to jar him into a temporary sort of focus and he straightened the cowed curve of his spine. "I chose D.C. at random. And then I was curious. You're my son, Seeley. I couldn't be here knowing you were here and not try."

"You realise how ridiculous that sounds, right? I mean, you have to." Booth's hand found the poker chip again. "If you've got regrets, they're yours to live with. You don't get to drag me into that mess just because a couple decades passed and you decided to develop a conscience."

"It's not like that."

"It's exactly like that. You left. We grew up. You don't get to strike up a conversation with me. Or Jared. Or Dr. Brennan, or Dr. Saroyan, or anyone else I work with. If there ever comes a point in my life when _I _feel like finding _you_, I'll do it. But the choice doesn't get to be yours. That's not how it works."

Joseph took a step forward and Booth caught the grimace that crossed his face at the rapid movement. Then Booth's emotions fell to something more akin to morbid fascination; he could analyse this face, the same face he had analysed so intently in his early years, and find himself disconnected from the terror of his past. He remembered the fear and yet what he felt was... impatience. A desire to speed them along and put as much distance between himself and this poison as possible.

"You can pretend, Seeley, but we're blood. I'm always gonna be a part of you."

"That's true enough," Booth nodded. "But I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess that you need me a hell of a lot more than I need you."

Joseph gave a half smile. "You've done your research."

"I'm good at what I do. You've got some interesting people looking for you," Booth mentioned in the conversational tone he used so often in the interrogation room.

"I do. But that's no secret. I told your girlfriend as much last night. That I remember."

"Yeah, purely out of the goodness of your heart, I'm sure."

"I wouldn't have asked you to do anything illegal."

"The fact that you thought to ask me anything at all pisses me off."

Joseph sighed. "I really did want to see you."

"Right. And how long did it take you to go from that to something just a little more self-serving?" Booth continued on in that same, calm tone, and briefly he allowed himself to believe that nothing could touch him.

"So where does that leave us, Seel?" Joseph asked impatiently. "I'm here another day and a half. You came to me."

Booth shrugged. "I figured us meeting should be on my terms at least once."

"And now we, what, go our separate ways? You keep tabs on me from a distance?"

Joseph's tone was mocking and Booth immediately stiffened against it. "You're not worth the time."

But he would. He knew he would. And he hated himself for it.

* * *

><p>Booth tried to use his personal days sparingly so that they were readily available in the summertime, when Parker was out of school. Even outside of summer, Rebecca had a habit of asking him to take Parker on short notice and the flexibility of a personal day or two often came in handy. But today it would have nothing to do with Parker and everything to do with the fact that he didn't think he could bring himself to care the smallest bit about any of the work waiting for him at the office.<p>

Just this once, he chose to take a day for entirely selfish reasons.

So the first call he made was to the bureau, and the second call he made was to Bones. Only she didn't pick up. Somewhere in the back of his mind he remembered her mentioning a conference call of some sort scheduled for that morning; she had been excited, that was the part he could recall clearly. However, as was often the case when she animatedly explained something pertaining to her field of study, he had been so amused by the rampant joy in her face the actual words had more or less faded out.

He considered leaving a message but ultimately opted not to do so, given that he lacked the concentration to leave much of anything that made sense. Booth slipped the phone back into his pocket. And then he drove.

* * *

><p>Brennan hit the familiar speed dial key and then hung up when it went to voicemail. Again. She refused to leave more than one message on principle, and she adamantly ignored the logical voice in her head telling her that the excessive phone calls read every bit as desperate as multiple messages.<p>

She had kept fairly busy early in the day; she hadn't even had time to check her messages until close to eleven. But while she often forwent leaving voice messages if the call was anything less than urgent, Booth usually didn't.

One call, no message. It was odd coming from him.

She had returned the call to no avail. Then she had phoned his office to the same end. When he hadn't contacted her by lunch, she had braved the overcast weather and visited the bureau, only to discover that he had yet to show up. Then she had phoned his cell again. And again. And now it was nearly three o'clock in the afternoon.

She made a few adjustments to the report on her screen and then settled into a somewhat productive routine of typing, checking her phone. Reading, checking her phone. Typing, checking her phone. And in the middle of one of her 'typing' phases, Cam rapped gently on the door before pushing it open and entering the room.

"Have you seen Booth?"

"We don't monitor one another every moment of the day, Cam," Brennan snapped.

Cam froze. "O-kay. That reaction wasn't at all disproportionate."

Brennan remained fixated on her screen and obstinately set out to be as dismissive as possible. "I'm very busy."

"I'm sure you are."

Her voice was irritatingly calm, and Brennan ground her teeth. "Then why are you still here?"

"Because Booth left a note on my desk and I haven't been able to read his writing since before we stopped sleeping together. The first time." The words tumbled out and Cam closed her eyes against the awkward silence. Awkward for her, anyway. Brennan's gaze didn't leave her computer. "I have no idea why I said that."

"Booth says you sometimes talk too much when you're extremely uncomfortable."

"I suppose that's something for me to work on."

Brennan continued to stare at her monitor, but held out her hand expectantly. "Let me see the note."

Cam stepped forward and gave her the scrap of paper, and then she sat in the chair on the opposite side of the desk.

Brennan glanced at the post-it briefly and then handed it back. "This is concerning the remains of Charles Warner. As we closed this case early last week, I'm finding it difficult to believe that it went unnoticed by you until today."

Cam looked at the ceiling. "Really? Wow. That's... so odd."

"What do you want, Cam?"

"I heard about what happened last night," Cam sighed. "I know you probably don't want to talk about it, but I just want a little confirmation that he's not off earning himself more mandated therapy. Booth is my friend and I'm worried about him."

"I'm sure he's fine. He's fine."

"Are _you _fine?" Cam questioned.

"Why are you asking me?" The clinical tone finally gave way to exasperation.

On the plus side, she was finally making eye contact. Cam went ahead and considered that a victory.

"Well, your phone hasn't rang or vibrated and yet I've watched you unlock the display six times since I've been in here."

Cam's words were that odd combination of factual and gentle, and for a moment it looked as if Brennan planned to protest strenuously. But in the end a worried crease appeared between her brows and she swallowed hard.

"He left before I woke up this morning," Brennan confessed. Her eyes were painfully bright, and Cam almost wished she would go back to staring at her screen. The Bambi look was breaking her heart. "He's either rejecting my calls on the first ring, or his phone is turned off. Neither prospect is particularly comforting."

Cam winced. "I love that man to death, but he can be a real idiot."

Brennan's right hand left the mouse and her fingers curled in defense against an unseen adversary. "I hate worrying."

"It's a burden," Cam agreed. "Unfortunately, there's no getting around it."

"I find this frustrating." The glower returned to her face.

"He just needs a little processing time. If anyone can understand that, it's you." Brennan's mouth tightened, but she neither agreed nor disagreed and Cam pressed on. "It's only been a few hours."

Brennan nodded, but she'd clearly decided that she was done with both eye contact and this conversation. She stood up suddenly and began cramming file folders into her bag. "I'm going to work from home for the rest of the day."

"You're what?" Cam raised her eyebrows incredulously and then coughed to cover up her surprise. "I mean, alright. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Perhaps," Brennan answered as she turned off her monitor.

That one, Cam couldn't let go. "You do remember that I'm technically your boss, right? You could at least pretend to ask permission."

"Why would I do that?" she asked distractedly. Where the hell had she put her agenda?

"Go," Cam shook her head. "Let me know when you find Booth."

Brennan looked up then and hesitated with her hand half in her bag. "I- thanks, Cam."

Cam stood up and walked with her to the door. "Just... at least give me a few days warning if the two of you decide to take off somewhere after this."

"Booth enjoys spontaneity."

"Oh no. Don't you put that all on Booth; I've been left scrambling for a fill-in anthropologist more times than I care to think about."

* * *

><p>She was halfway to Booth's apartment when her phone rang; upon seeing his name, she fumbled to insert the device into its port and connect the call before he hung up.<p>

"Booth," she called hurriedly. "Booth?"

"Hey, Bones!"

She frowned at the cheerful tone, far different from what she had been expecting, and then she shook her head. "Why weren't you answering your phone?"

"Huh?"

"Your phone! I called you. More than once."

"I _am _on my phone."

"What?" She frowned again and took her eyes off the road to fiddle briefly with her cell. "I think your phone is malfunctioning."

"I like my phone."

"That has nothing to do with- Booth, where are you?" she snapped, laying a hand on the horn as someone swerved into her lane. The urge to floor the gas and run into the back of the car ahead was strong. It wasn't as if she couldn't afford an increase to her insurance premium.

"Bones?"

He sounded confused, as if he hadn't just up and disappeared and caused her hours of worry. When she found him, she was going to injure him severely.

"Why does your voice sound like that?" She posed the question and then almost immediately answered it herself. "Are you _drunk_?"

"No!" he answered quickly. Then he gave a little giggle that completely undermined the validity of that statement. "Maybe a little," he amended.

"Where are you?" she repeated. Her voice was terse now as worry gave way to anger. How dare he.

"On the stairs."

"_What _stairs?"

"The stairs, Bones. The ones outside, with the water and the statues..."

She sighed and turned right at the next set of lights. "Don't move, I'm coming."

"Okay," he agreed easily.

"Booth, do _not _move, do you hear me? Stay where you are. Stay right there."

"I said okay, Bones. Jeez."

He hung up first, which pissed her right off because ending the call was a very small satisfaction that she was pretty sure she'd earned.

* * *

><p>Brennan slammed her car door and stalked across the grounds; fortunately, it didn't take her long to spot him. Booth was sitting to the far right of the top step, staring unseeingly into the small crowds milling around the pool. But even intoxicated, he had a sense for her presence. She watched his head snap up and scour the area eagerly, and he looked so happy when he found her, Brennan would have been tempted to laugh if she wasn't furious.<p>

He sprang to his feet and jumped down the stairs to greet her, graceful as always, and the smallest part of her admired his coordination. But she was still mostly pissed.

"You're being very irresponsible."

"Hi." He moved into her space and she took a step back, holding a hand authoritatively between them.

"You didn't go to work today. You hate taking time off work."

"That's you."

"That's _you_, too. The last time you injured your back-

"I was fine!"

"You spent ten minutes explaining the functionality of your toaster oven to me. Not at all correctly, by the way. And you _still _wanted to go."

He laughed again and Brennan rolled her eyes. Because trying to reason with Booth could be difficult enough during the best of times, and it would be damn near impossible now.

"You've been gone for hours," she accused softly.

Booth sobered and shifted his weight. "Yeah. I'm sorry about that, Bones."

He stared and it was then that she remembered the way they had been when she had seen him last, just before she had fallen asleep. No longer yelling but not quite whole. Odd distances just beyond her comprehension. The anger began to fade and in its place came apprehension.

Booth tried to smile, but it faltered quickly.

"I talked to my dad," he admitted.

The words sounded ordinary, and she wanted them to be such. With a fervour surpassed only by the one that had taken hold on a certain Christmas Day long ago, she wished she could change the facts. Booth had many little-boy modes – Angela's term, not hers – but the vulnerability that shone through when he mixed alcohol and sadness just about unravelled her.

He collapsed onto the bottom step and she seated herself carefully beside him.

"I'm sorry, Booth."

"It didn't make me feel any better. It's never going to feel better. And then I went home. Except I didn't really want to be home."

"So you came here."

"I just wanted to be sure I still could, you know? Make a bad decision like getting drunk in the middle of a work day without losing my mind and starting fights in bars. Fights with you."

"You would never hurt me," Brennan slid closer.

"This is self-destructive, isn't it?" Booth sighed. "Sweets would call it self-destructive."

"Sweets isn't here. And you know how I feel about psychology."

"In that case..." Booth reached behind him and picked up a lidded cup, "... you should drink too."

"What?" she frowned. "No."

"Why not? Come on; spit in the face of psychology with me."

She shook her head, but her lips twitched as she hid a smile. "Booth, I drove here. I need to be able to get us home."

"That's what cabs are for, Bones. We can come back for your car if we have to. I've got a car again, remember?"

He sounded so excited about this fact that Brennan couldn't disguise her smile any longer. "Yes, I remember."

"Don't make me drink by myself."

"You _have _been drinking by yourself," she reminded him.

He passed her the coffee cup that suspiciously smelled nothing like coffee and very much like scotch. "You need to catch up. Otherwise, you're being rude."

"According to whom?" she frowned.

"According to everyone, Bones. Drink."

She shook her head, but took a slow pull from the cup regardless. A slight crinkle in her nose was her only outward protest to the burn of the hard alcohol travelling down her throat, and Booth decided that she really was goddamn close to perfect.

She mixed up her idioms and pop culture went straight over her head, and she did have a bit of a knack for causing public scenes, but she could hold her liquor. She was as loyal as they came. She loved him.

"I do love you, you know. I'm sorry about last night. I'm sorry for leaving."

Brennan passed the cup back to him and absently swirled her tongue around her mouth, tasting the remnants of Booth's favourite liquor. "I don't require an apology. I think... I think I understand."

At this, Booth's eyebrows rose high on his forehead and he smirked self depreciatingly. "I wish you'd explain it to me then. Because I damn well don't."

She shifted and cleared her throat. "Well, I assume that you are familiar with the German Mastiff? They are a fairly common breed of domesticated animal."

His laugh, coloured by the alcohol, came out as a cross between the deep chuckle she loved and something just a little higher. "Great Danes, Bones. We're in America. Why can't you just say Great Dane?"

"If you _know _what I'm saying, then why does it matter?" she huffed, snatching the cup out of his hands and taking another swallow before placing it roughly on the ground between them. "What is it that you're always asking me to do? Focus on the bigger diagram."

"Picture. The bigger picture."

"Same thing."

"That one was on purpose," Booth said with certainty.

"You're intoxicated. Your judgement is unreliable."

"I know you," his eyes focused on her intently. "Intoxicated or not."

Brennan shivered. She didn't think she could ever become complacent in the feeling of knowing another person and being known so deeply in return. She experienced the increasingly common rush of affection flooding through her being, and she cleared her throat once again in an attempt to compose herself.

"Great Danes," she continued, emphasising the title for Booth's benefit, "are perhaps most commonly known by their size. They are quite large. Unfortunately, their considerable mass means that they are also predisposed to a number of health problems, alongside certain genetic defects. Blindness, deafness, gastric dilatation-volvulus... dilated cardiomyopathy."

"I don't know what those are, Bones, come on." Booth's eyes clouded with frustration and he picked up the cup, though he didn't drink out of it.

"Their hearts become weak and enlarged and they die young," Brennan explained quickly. "The lifespan of a Great Dane rarely extends beyond seven years."

"That's comforting."

"_You _are the Great Dane."

At this, Booth did take a drink. And roll his eyes. "Thanks."

"You give and you give, and your heart is too big for any one body. It gave out for a little while. But you'll get it back."

She held her breath as she awaited his reaction. Either the slight spike in hopefulness that would indicate he understood the analogy, or the furrowing of his brow that would tell her she had managed to get it wrong. Again.

"Yeah?" he asked uncertainly.

And she breathed.

"Yes. Because you are only a metaphoric Great Dane and you are very much alive. Even though considering the number of near fatal situations you have been involved in, this defies probability."

"You could sound a little happier about that, Bones."

"Also, because your heart has given out before – metaphorically, that is – and you have recovered. You survive, Booth. Always."

"Two plus two equals four, you put sugar in your coffee and it tastes sweet, the sun comes up because the world turns, and I survive, always, huh?"

It was a joke, but she looked at him with absolute solemnity.

"Yes."

He kissed her then. Because he couldn't _not _kiss her. Her mouth tingled with the taste of scotch on his tongue, and she sighed contently against his lips.

Hard alcohol and pliant mouths, gentle hands and taut skin, relief and gratitude. He had broken parts, and she had broken parts, and together, they formed a slightly jagged whole. They would never make a perfect, plenary piece – oftentimes, they couldn't even be construed as a pretty piece – but what they created was infinitely better than being alone and fragmented and at the mercy of the wind.

The kiss came to an end and Brennan scooted across the last of the space between them until their legs pressed comfortably together. Her arm looped through his and she rested her head against his shoulder, and she put forth no protest when he held the cup out for her free hand. She drank, and he drank, and they watched the hazy light of the sun through the clouds disappear into the early darkness of autumn.

"I don't feel cold," Brennan murmured eventually.

"Me neither," Booth responded.

"The temperature has dropped significantly while we've been sitting here; we _should _feel cold. The alcohol is dulling our senses."

"That's kind of the point, Bones."

"We should go," she said, although she didn't move.

Booth fiddled absently with the coffee cup that had long since gone empty. "Ten minutes?"

"Now, Booth."

"Seven minutes," he compromised. "I just wanna watch the lights a little longer."

Brennan hesitated briefly, but in the end she gave in. "Okay."

Exactly four minutes later, there was a blinding streak of lightning, a loud clap of thunder, and a sudden, steady stream of rain as the clouds broke open.

For a moment they continued to sit in shock, until the biting droplets settling into their clothing spurred them into action.

"Not a word, Bones!" Booth shouted over the loud sounds of water hitting the surfaces of their surroundings.

"I _said_, Booth. I said we should go," Brennan raised her voice in a like fashion. "If you had listened- hey!"

He took her hand and broke into an unceremonious dead sprint, leaving her with the options of either keeping up or bringing them both down onto the increasingly muddy ground beneath their feet.

"We should hurry, or we'll never catch a cab."

"We wouldn't _need _to hurry if we had left when I-

"It's called letting things go, Bones. You should try it sometime."

They were soaked to the skin by the time they reached the street, but they were laughing. Giddy, even. And it felt wonderful. Their timing was good and a cab was flagged down quickly, but Booth, high on the air of frivolity pulsing between them, grabbed Brennan's arm and pulled her against him before she could open the door.

"Booth!" she laughed, "We're getting wet. And I'm beginning to feel the cold."

"You know, this girl I once knew broke my heart in the rain once. Well, it was after the rain, technically. But it counts."

"Wha- when? Who?" Brennan questioned indignantly. Then she caught his smile, and her own lips stretched upward as she figured out the game. "Really?"

"Really."

"My heart was similarly crushed by a boy. I believe it was raining then as well."

"It hurt like a bitch."

"Yes, quite."

"But it was worth it," he kissed her softly.

"Yes," she echoed against his mouth. "Worth it."

"I couldn't have got through the last week without you, Bones," Booth said, suddenly serious. "I just... I wanted to tell you that."

Brennan's expression became similarly earnest. "Yes you could have. You would have."

He tucked the quickly knotting strands of her wet hair behind her ear. "Well then I'm glad I didn't have to."

The moment was interrupted by the honking of the cab horn, and they quickly piled in before the driver could change his mind and drive away.

Booth rattled off the address for his apartment and then sank back into the old seat. "We're going to be hungover," he stated.

"Possibly. _You _will be for sure."

"Too bad I took today off. Probably would have made more sense to get drunk _after _work and call in tomorrow."

"We can play nooky." Brennan's eyes lit up at the prospect of this deviant behaviour.

"Hooky."

"No," she grinned while shaking her head, "I'm fairly certain I like my version better."

Booth caught the smirk of the cab driver in the rear view mirror and felt his face grow heated as she chuckled proudly at her own joke. He didn't bother trying to silence her; that only ever made things worse. Besides, her laugh was just about his favourite sound in the world.

"Nice, Bones."

"I'm becoming-

"-quite amusing. Yeah. I know."

It was a perfect moment smack in the middle of an imperfect situation, like so many of their moments before, and as his indulgent chuckle joined her carefree laughter, Booth began to remember what it was like to feel better.

**- End -**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Closing Notes: <strong>__I realise it's not exactly a neatly tied ending, but I figure that with twenty some odd years of pent up drama, there was no way I could wrap things up conclusively in a reasonable number of words. I also wanted to leave it open ended so that maybe, somewhere down the line, I could have fun writing something involving Booth's dad when we, I don't know, maybe know something about him besides the fact that he was an asshat._

_**Final Note at RositaLG: **__Jenn, you were my first fanfic friend and you've made me feel so at home in this fandom. You were nice, and encouraging, and oh so funny, and you inspired me to get twitter, which ended up being like the best decision of my life (when it works :P). There are a lot of great people I wouldn't have met without you roping me into conversations with strangers, and if this story has made you half as happy as you make me, then my job is done :) Happy birthday for the last time this year. #DenverFTW_


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